


Free to Fall

by uselessenglishmajor



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: And Finn is our president, And Leia is our general, And Plot, And more Revan/Bastila shoutouts than should be allowed, But also kissing, F/M, Gothic Space Romance, He’s better at it than you think, I used to ship this casually and now I’m writing fic, In this house we respect Rose Tico, It’s Rian Johnson’s fault, KOR are kind of a big deal, Love Triangle of Doom needs a tag, Medieval imagery everywhere, No Trope Left Behind, Plus epicness, Plus sexy times, Renperor, Sith General Hospital, Sith Lords need a tag, beware the third act, but in the worst possible way, comments section needs a tag, cue evil twin, dark territory ahead, everybody loves an exorcism, honeymoons on mustafar are really quite nice, how did princess elsa end up in this fic?, i am back on my bullshit, i wasn't kidding about that tagline, i've been reading dune again, it's a full-fledged space trash soap opera, obligatory coma storyline, pls forgive me ghost of frank herbert, the amnesia storyline u asked for, there's no point fighting this anymore, warning: this fic actually got someone pregnant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 217,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13323165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uselessenglishmajor/pseuds/uselessenglishmajor
Summary: Life and death aren’t abstract concepts; they’re soulmates trapped in human form.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Obligatory post-TLJ Reylo fic. Started out as a force bond will-they/won't-they, but then the Knights of Ren showed up and things got epic. All Bastila/Revan shoutouts are intentional (and likely very badly done). Same with the Wookieepedia references. Plan is to update as often as I can. Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
>   
> (Credit and all the thanks to Melody_Of_The_River!)

"I made him just and right,  
Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

The field is red. Blood, he thinks. He wishes, more like. He wants blood, rivers of it. He wants to drink from his uncle's skull. You take everything, he thinks. You always have, and now you've taken this too. The anger roars inside, an electrical current searching for an endless series of conductors. He emerges from the rebel base, past the mutilated doors that held just long enough, past the smear of a distraction that used to be his own flesh and blood.

Hux waits to meet him, his face pinched with smugness, self-preservation the only thing keeping his tongue in check. Kylo reduces his lung capacity by thirty percent and is gratified to see the General double over. He stalks up the ramp, reading the faces of his men. Fear, disappointment, uncertainty. He channels it all into a white-hot beam, burning, twisting through his being and outside of it and into that fucking field of red and the farce of his family legacy. He channels it until he can't see anything else. It takes five seconds before the ground begins to shake.

The expressions of his men change. He feels their panic, feeds off it. The white-hot light burns brighter. When the moment is right, Kylo Ren closes his eyes.

The field vanishes, collapsing into a cavern half a mile wide.

"Let's go," he says to the stunned shuttle pilot.

Hux stumbles aboard, greedily sucking down air, terror and contrition bubbling up in equal measure.

"What orders, my Lord?" his voice sounds like shredded wires.

Kylo deigns to ponder, if only for effect.

"Send for the Knights of Ren."

* * *

Rey wakes to screaming. She looks around, ready to fight, only to recognize she is in her bunk aboard the _Falcon_. The ship orbits a moon, an out of the way fueling station in the Outer Rim that attracts no attention. The remains of the Resistance are holed up close by, but the screams do not belong to them.

She searches her feelings, reaching out the way Luke taught her. She sees Crait, the red salt field now swallowed up by black. She sees the crystal foxes running with no means of escape, sees the bodies of men and women being drowned by the earth. The dead are all screaming, pleading for peace, and Rey covers her eyes and ears, but the images won't stop. She thinks she cannot take anymore, when she is just as suddenly smothered by silence. A caress. She feels it as the room spins, topples, falls in dead space.

_Where are you?_

No, she thinks. Not now. She tumbles out of her bunk onto the cold metal grate. The voice seeps into her bones, low and seductive.

_Are you near? I can feel you._

She grabs for a blanket, coarse against her skin, but the roughness is real. Not this. Not him. She gathers her emotions like a blanket too and pulls them tight around her, shutting him out as she did the _Falcon_ 's door in his face. Rey recalls the screams and prays for those who were lost. _Leave me alone!_ Her anger reaches across the galaxy before she can stop it.

A quiet laugh reaches back.

"Did you feel it too?"

She startles, peeking out from beneath her blanket. Leia is kneeling on the grated floor by her side.

"Feel what?" Rey says.

"Don't kid me, kiddo. I've had quieter days when whole planets exploded. You can sense him."

"Who?"

"My disaster of a son." Leia sits down fully and rests her hands on her knees, the casual pose at odds with her formal outfit. "He's not very happy about what happened back there."

"No," Rey says, rubbing a hand across her eyes. "Ben is—"

"Ben?" Leia grabs hold of her wrist, and Rey realizes her mistake. "Do you know each other?"

Rey shakes her head. No, I don't, she thinks. Not like I thought. I don't know anything.

Small, firm hands grip her shoulders. "Rey, what is it? What’s wrong?"

Rey keeps shaking her head. There are tears in her eyes. Why must she cry over him? Why must he hurt her as only the people you care about can do?

"Oh, honey." Leia takes her in her arms, and Rey cries in a way she has never let herself since she was small. "You can tell me, you know. Tell me what happened."

Rey does. Every detail. She hides nothing from this woman. The burden feels less, but it also feels greater. Now another person knows and what was theirs has become Ben's mother's as well.

Leia pales, and her arms tremble. She can only be strong for so long. Longer than most, but Rey has the suspicion it is one of the few times someone has truly shocked her.

"I think my heart is breaking," Rey says. "Like the lightsaber we cracked in two. And I don't know how to fix this. What should I do?"

"Tell no one," Leia says, her eyes as dark and sad as her son's. "I'll inform the others what they need to know. Enough to get you as far away from him as possible."

A secret shared is twice as dangerous.

* * *

_Seven years._

Alec Magess, Sui-Marshal of Battala and Confessor of the Knights of Ren, steps down from his shuttle gangplank. He has not traveled from beyond the Outer Rim territories in seven full years. He has not tasted the recycled air of an Imperial-Class star destroyer sailing through a primary system, has not looked upon the bustling worlds of the Old Republic. His life could be reduced to a series of battles, he thinks. Of hard ground and hostile faces. The blistering heat of Kanaa. The plague-filled mud pits of Giedi-Farr. The frozen black of Sardis. Deprivation. Madness. Despair. Endless war and endless bloodshed, all in the name of remaking. All waiting for this day. For an encrypted message sent by an encrypted channel:

**_The Supreme Leader is dead._ **

Seven years since the temple burned and the worlds changed, since two padawans plotted to do everything over and to do it right this time, to take scalps and skulls as payment for treachery. To make the galaxy pure. To exact revenge.

Of course, they'd both learned that power did not come easy. It required submission, both to the wise and to the foolish. It required subjugation. It required leading troops who bore the insignia of the First Order, and all the pomp and nonsense that engendered. It required patience.

And endless amounts of concealment.

"Sui-Marshall?"

General Hux stands at the end of a company of black-clad officers. He refuses to use Alec's honorary title of 'Sir.' The man looks shorter than his hologram likeness, Alec thinks, but the sour, insipid quality of his face remains. He falls into step beside him.

"Have the others arrived?" Alec says.

"They are assembled in the royal chamber." Hux rolls his r's for a faux-patrician effect. "We feared you would not make it in time." He does not sound bereaved. Alec imagines his head decorating the end of a pike-staff.

"My men will need quarters."

Hux nods to a smaller black uniform. "Captain Kirss will see to them." A woman raises her eyes, golden-haired and attractive. Alec smiles at her and her pupils dilate. A gentle push with the Force and her pulse quickens, though her cheeks redden of their own volition. Seven years as a Dark Side user has only made his flirting worse.

Hux takes note and is not pleased. Interesting, Alec thinks, and files it away. The young Captain disappears, and they resume their walking.

"Were there losses on Crait?"

"None sustained during the battle," Hux says.

"And after?"

Hux weighs his words. "Two armored transports and half a battalion of troopers." He stops before a set of massive gray doors. "I've never seen anything like it. The ground shook and he made it devour them."

"Who did?" Alec says.

"Your precious leader."

He thinks back two days, to something he had felt in the Force. A great wave of anguish. Sometimes he could sense such things in battle, but this had been different. Was it even possible? He reflects on his readings of the lords of old. Nothing signifies in his memory.

(But then, Ben had always been the better student.)

Alec places a hand on the General's shoulder. Warm and reassuring, and with five stones of extra pressure thanks to the Force. He watches as Hux fails to hide the pain, even if he is too prideful to cry out. "Maybe you're right, General. Maybe we sorcerers do have our uses."

One final squeeze. "Long live the Supreme Leader."

He shuts the door in Hux's face.

* * *

The royal hall is a repurposed hangar. A cluster of humans have gathered at the far end. There are no guards, for each man is an army unto himself. It has been years since he has seen them. They all kneel. They all wear black. Some have masks, but those have been removed in the presence of the Supreme Leader.

And then there is the Supreme Leader. He sits on a throne of steel. A metal chair on a metal dais. It is not ornate. There is nothing about this place that is beautiful. It is harsh and it is useful and it is immense.

Much like the man himself, Alec muses. But some things have changed. He is older, far more so than Alec thought possible. Same dark hair cropped carelessly long, but there's a hardness in his features that is unexpected. This man has seen darkness, and knows it well. A long scar bisects his face into uneven halves, and Alec thinks of the mangled features of the lords of old and feels more than a twinge of jealousy. What have you gotten up to without me?

Alec reaches the circle of men and kneels alongside them. He wears no mask, so there is nothing to remove.

"The prodigal returns," a tattooed beast of a man mutters. Alec gives him his most charming smile. The last time he and Malaak had met, sabers had been drawn and the larger man had been bested. Clearly, it still stings.

"Enough," the man on the throne says, and Alec can feel the Force like a weight binding all of them. "Snoke is dead."

"Killed by your own hand?" Malaak says.

Their leader ignores the question. "The government must not falter. There must be no insurgence. What of the territories?"

Pular speaks first. He is a delicately-boned boy of twenty-one, the structure belying his ruthlessness underneath. "The Guild systems are subdued. They want peace because it means their prosperity."

"And the colonies?"

Ersn, a young man with dark skin and pale eyes answers. "They will give us no trouble." Alec remembers his mind-reading abilities that far surpassed any of Luke's other students.

"The Mid Rim as well," a knight named Vadanav says. "A brief rebellion was stamped out."

"And the Outer Rim?" the Supreme Leader looks to Alec.

"Most of the rebels were in hiding there. They have all been destroyed. Some tried to send help to Leia Organa's distress signal on Crait, but I took care of it."

"Good. What remains of the rebels escaped in Han Solo's ship. I want them hunted down. Nothing must remain of the Resistance. I will give each of you a list of names. They are to be killed on sight."

"Even your mother?" Pular asks.

"Especially my mother."

"And what of the girl?" Malaak says. "The one who was training with Luke. Who is hunting her?"

Alec smirks. "You think you deserve the honor?"

"It's more interesting than babysitting a useless star system—"

"No one is hunting the girl," the Supreme Leader says. "She is not on the list. If she is found, I want her brought directly to me. Unharmed."

A quiet falls over the men.

"You would spare a Jedi?" It is Malaak who gives voice to their thoughts.

The Supreme Leader stands, and the other knights stand too. Even without the dais he's still a head taller than every other man, save for Alec. "The girl shall not be harmed. Anyone who does so will answer to me." He steps onto the floor. "My Knights, I need you to maintain order in the galaxy. Return to your posts; I appoint you as their governors. You will rule each in my name."

"You would reestablish the oversectors?" Ersn fairly quivers with excitement.

"For the time being. It is the easiest way to maintain order. This is what I ask of you. Do you accept?"

"Yes, my Master," Alec answers first, reverting to the old form of address. He kneels again to show his submission. One by one, the other men follow, even Malaak.

"My Lord," Pular says, "what shall we call you now?"

Alec responds on his behalf. "You shall call him what he is. Call him 'Emperor.'"

A faint smile flickers across the newly anointed Emperor's face. "Very well. Now go and do your emperor's bidding."

The men begin to file out.

"But the Confessor shall stay."

Pular and Ersn give Alec a parting look of fear; Malaak one of ill-concealed delight. Vadanav is unbothered. Soon just Alec and the Emperor remain. Alec comes closer. He gestures to the Emperor's face.

"I hope the other guy looks worse."

Kylo closes his eyes in exasperation. "It's good to see you, too."

"There are stories about you, brother."

"You always did love gossip."

Alec smiles. "Father-killer. Attempted mother-killer. Killer of the Supreme Leader—"

"—To speak of that is treason."

"If it were true.”

"What do they say?"

Alec considers. "They are glad he is dead. He was a glutton and a charlatan. Not worthy of the dark power he possessed. All that's left is his rabid lapdog."

"No one touches Hux," Kylo says. "Not yet. I still need the military's support."

"I won't do anything rash. But I should stay near him. Keep close watch."

"Agreed."

"There are stories about the girl, too."

Dark eyes snap up. A warning washes over Alec like newly spilled blood. "What have you heard?"

"That she came to you. That she bears the blame for Snoke's death. The rest is shrouded in mystery. Purposefully, it seems."

Kylo is silent for a long time. "I hardly know how to explain it," he says so quietly. "Around her my powers are… magnified. Focus and clarity the likes of which I've never seen."

"Don't tell me you're planning to turn back to the Light."

The push Alec receives is not pleasant. He lands on his ass a dozen feet away. "She needs to be with me." Kylo’s voice is loud enough to echo off the walls. "With us."

Realization dawns as Alec pulls himself to standing. "You'd turn her?"

"Having her is what's important. Do you understand?"

Ben was the intellectual, the more detached of the two (notwithstanding the occasional fits of rage, one of many gifts from his grandfather). This is something new.

"You think she'd be helpful," Alec says.

"I think she is essential."

"All right then." He smiles. "In the Emperor we trust." He shakes his head, smile stretching into a grin. "I still can't believe this day has come."

"We will remake the galaxy," Kylo says. "Just as we promised."

"A golden age," Alec says. "The age of the Sith."

He does not see the shadow that crosses his old friend's face.


	2. Chapter 2

"Here we may reign secure, and in my choice  
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Rey stands against the back wall of the _Falcon_ 's cargo bay. Today she is no Jedi hero, just another observer. There are twenty-eight in total left to bear witness. It's all that remains from Holdo's sacrifice, and before that the assault on Starkiller Base. The losses are difficult to comprehend.

With the last scraps of the Resistance gathered together, Leia relays her plan. She appears unaffected. Loss is a part of her, Rey thinks, something deeper than a collection of experiences. It saturates down to her marrow, as if the Force imprinted her with the genetics of tragedy.

Thinking about the General's family brings an unwelcome ache to Rey's chest. Lucky for her, Leia knows how to command attention.

"Running is not enough," she says. "We must rebuild. But carefully. The First Order is strong and they know we are nearly wiped out. Their instinct will be to hunt us. We must do better than run." She pauses. "We must disappear."

A confused murmur erupts, quickly extinguished by rains of calm, and Rey wonders if Leia is even aware of the extent that she uses the Force. The room is silent again as Leia proceeds to explain.

She and Poe are to leave in search of allies. There are those she has not called on for help in a long time, but certain friends remain loyal, if somewhat discreet in their allegiances. She asks Chewbacca to keep the engineers and other technical staff safe; the droids, as well. They can lay low on his home planet of Kashyyyk, whose dense forests are ideal for sheltering the small band of survivors. The _Millennium Falcon_ is to be abandoned where they stand. Chewie makes a short, regretful growl. Rey shares his sentiment, though she cannot deny the wisdom.

Finn and Rose have been chosen to shore up support at the grassroots level, to light as many sparks as they can. Who has a grudge against the First Order? Who can be swayed from whatever tenuous hold they have? It is slow and dangerous work. Leia says she understands if they wish to lay low as well, but Finn interrupts her before she can finish. "I won't let you down." Rose stands proudly beside him, and Rey is left to wonder what she has missed in the brief time they have been apart.

As for Rey, Leia says she is a prime target of the new Supreme Leader and thus must go into hiding. It's a Force thing, she says with no further explanation. Rey looks away from all the curious stares, embarrassed. She feels like an anomaly, not the mystical creature who incited awe as she raised huge boulders from the ground. Now she is a danger, a liability. The Force has cursed her to live apart from everyone else.

This had been the burden Luke had fled from, the crushing weight Ben Solo could scarcely carry without fracturing the soul within. Now it is Rey's turn. She does not relish what lies ahead, like being abandoned as scrap back on Jakku, but the fear of Ben finding her instead?

"Rey? Are you okay with this?"

She nods at Finn and gives a weak smile. It hurts to pretend, to move her mouth the small amount. Finn glares, unconvinced. There will be a conversation later. Another painful goodbye.

For now, she follows Leia down the narrow corridor that leads to the cockpit.

"What is it?" Leia says, impatient to start her new mission.

"I can go with you."

"No."

"You need protection."

"Not as much as you."

"I can handle myself," Rey says. "I can handle your son. Please let me help you."

She remembers a different plea, a desperate _please_ with outstretched hand and soft mouth (how his lips had trembled and Rey had pressed her own mouth tight together, decision clear in her mind).

"You'd be taking a huge risk."

"It makes no difference wherever I am."

"And what about the risk to myself?"

Rey feels the frustration of half a portion earned for a ten-portion haul. She blinks slowly and breathes. "I'll go mad if I can't be useful."

Leia weighs the options. She makes her decision: "My kind of girl," and she smiles.

* * *

Finn paces the deserted cargo bay, the rest of the Resistance busy outside as they prepare the other transporters. "It isn’t fair," he says, "I only just have you back."

It isn't fair, Rey knows, that she avoided him until there was so little time left. I can be a coward, she thinks. Hiding and pretending to wait for something she knows will never happen. Finn looks at her with a determined expression, resigned as well but no longer with fear. There is sadness, and the Force lets her feel it. She feels Rose close by, though they have not exchanged words.

"I know but—"

"Can he hurt you? Does he…?" Finn throws his arms up, waves his hands at the sides of his head. It’s not a Force trick Rey is familiar with. "I don't get how all this works."

"What do you mean?"

"Kylo Ren."

All Finn remembers is the black-cloaked monster who stabbed his father through the heart and ripped Finn's spine wide open. Not what Rey knows, and she is jealous of how easy it must be to hate the nightmare visage. But she has seen its skin.

"He can't hurt me. He already tried that once." She fakes another smile and feels her face tear apart.

"I can't believe—"

"It's going to be okay."

"If I never get to see you again," Finn nods as if to assure himself, "It'll be okay as long as I know you're safe."

"Ssh," Rey says. "Please." (How she hates that word.) "I'll miss you," and she hugs her only friend.

Finn's arms are the kindest things she has ever felt around her. "You too."

"Go save the Resistance," she says and she hears his laugh, feels his warmth as he hugs her tighter.

Over his shoulder, Rey sees Rose watch them, and she whispers in his ear, "Keep her close."

"Who?" Finn says.

Clueless idiot, she thinks. She lets him go, and he walks away, reluctant, until he backs up into Rose.

Rey watches the hapless and endearing interaction, the same bittersweet taste in her mouth as when she’d seen Finn tend to the unconscious girl. Now Rose is recovered, and she smiles when he sees her. She holds his hand and says something to him; then Rose is approaching Rey.

"Hello," Rey says.

"Hey." Rose twists a crescent-shaped medallion that nestles in the neckline of her overalls. "I know we've not met properly yet and this is probably the worst time but I really need to ask you something…" She clenches her jaw and forces herself to hold Rey's gaze. "Are you and Finn…?" She shrugs with shoulders and eyebrows. Rey doesn't understand.

"Are we…?"

"You know…"

Rey really doesn’t.

Poor Rose presses on. "Are you with him?" She leans forward and says, her voice dropping low, "Like a couple?”

"Oh. No, it’s nothing like that." Rey smiles, and it is genuine now; she has met another who loves her friend. "I'm just so glad I got to meet you."

"You are?"

"Of course." She leans closer too and says in the same soft murmur, "You'll take care of him, won't you?"

"Yeah." Rose is blushing. "It was nice to meet you too. He always kept talking about you, I didn't know what to expect. I'm so sorry for the dumb question…" She shakes her head, the ends of her dark hair blurring. "I think you're so brave," she says, all her wariness discarded. "You're amazing."

"I'm…" Rey wants to say ‘nothing’, but that's not true. Not to some people. "I'm still learning."

"Everyone is. General Organa even. This situation’s so new, but that still means there's hope." Rose speaks with such conviction, Rey almost believes it’s true. "You and Finn, you've given us all so much—"

Rey hugs Rose then because she can't bear anymore. "May the Force be with you," she says.

May the Force be with them all.

* * *

Alec enters the throne room with a broad and knowing smile. He was not scheduled on the command ship for another two cycles. Something has certainly pleased him. It reminds Kylo of when they were padawans together, Alec usually discovering trouble first and impatient in his eagerness to share. The Emperor's attendants are alarmed, his newly minted imperial guards stepping forward to block Alec's progression. Their reactions are halted with an impatient Force-push from the knight.

"At ease," Kylo says, holding in a weary sigh. He maintains his neutral expression, the blank mask of his features proving more forbidding than the mechanical toy he had played with for too many years. He regrets Alec's lack of deference in the moment, although perhaps his overriding excitement will turn out justified. "Leave us," Kylo says, and then to his Confessor asks, "Must you make a show out of everything?"

"In this case I reserve the right; I bring most joyous tidings." His friend kneels with a theatrical sweep of one arm. "We have located the _Millennium Falcon_."

The decaying relic lies shrouded beneath tarps, gathering dust on a long-forgotten moon base. Alec takes Kylo to the exact spot, the Emperor forgoing the trappings of his imperial shuttle and ever-growing entourage. Kylo could feel the displeasure as he made his travel plans known. A breach of protocol. The sense of ulterior motive or something more personal raising the first rumblings of disquiet. Kylo shuts the noises out. He stands in the yellow light of a star, his black cape flecked with white sand as it spreads like a flag in the wind. Alec stands before his father's battered ship as if he has brought Kylo some great trophy.

"How do you wish to destroy it?" he says.

Kylo only walks past him. "Go wait in your ship."

"But—"

Kylo reaches with the Force and casts the tarps aside. They drop to the ground with the speed of arrows. Alec takes his leave, and Kylo stops before the entrance.

Piece of junk, he thinks. Useless machine. He wrenches down the gangplank with the squeeze of a hand, hard enough to twist metal. He stomps inside.

When he had last boarded the structure, he was not tall enough to reach the wookiee's hip. Now he leans down as he enters. He breathes in the stench and remembers the noise of equipment always failing, his father's futile curses and the wookiee's howls. His mother's disappointment. The arguments. The stretch of a million rays of light as his father disappeared once more.

He moves through the various compartments, gloved fingers tracing dents and scratches in the walls. One or two he knows he made himself. Tiny cuts that on their own did nothing. But hundreds of them? Thousands? How many cuts would it take?

The familiar tour takes him down a narrow hallway to the heart of the exhibit. He stoops so he is almost bent double, and when he rises up he sees what his father must have spent most of his adult life seeing.

He sits down in the pilot's seat and closes his eyes. He can feel her presence; his mother was here. One more deep breath, and the memory of another.

She was here as well.

* * *

Rey closes her eyes and sinks further into the bath. Such luxury seems offensive given the circumstances, but after a week of posing as refugees aboard a cavernous vessel headed for Plexis, she has learned to cling to every happy moment like salvage to be sold for sustenance.

The bath is a slipstone bowl large enough to fit a happabore. It belongs to a salt baron named Uko, an unremarkable and rather lumpy man married to a highborn friend of Leia's, and one of the few remaining Alderaanians left besides Leia herself. The friend's name is Pamphor. She has kind eyes and a calm spirit, and Rey senses that she wants to help Leia more than her husband will allow.

"We can't cross them," he tells everyone over an elaborate lunch. "The First Order's good for business, and I can't risk the fates of everyone we know."

"But sanctuary," Pamphor insists, "we can give them that," and the lumpy man agrees.

Pamphor's definition of sanctuary is more than anything Rey could imagine. Their home is better described as a castle, on the edges of a lake as wide as the Great Dune Sea. She gives an entire turret to them, with Rey, Leia and Poe each having their own chamber and a shared anteroom. Pamphor forbids the servants to enter for fear that someone will sell their location to the highest bidder. (It is difficult to keep secret the movements of a woman as well-known as Leia Organa, and Rey is only beginning to appreciate this.)

Rey's room is nearly the size of her old AT-AT home, with a refresher containing large windows looking out over the lake and the setting purple sun. She has never taken a bath before. At first she's scared that she might drown in such a volume of water, but she slowly learns to float. It is the most glorious feeling. Wet and warm and perfectly weightless. She loves the sensation of the water on her skin like the finest of fabrics, the way her body moves beneath its surface.

She had a cup of monaki wine with dinner, and now pleasantly buzzed, she lets her mind wander. She thinks of her skin, and of another's stretched taut over solid planes of muscle. It was wet that night too, she thinks, and her mouth is parched. Her hands wander aimlessly, glancing her chest and thighs.

She sighs, and the air shifts. It shimmers and changes and she can feel more than the touch of her own hands upon her.

"How dare you!" She scrambles, reaching over the side for her discarded Jedi robes. She comes up with only her thin grey wrappings and stands with them held around her. "Leave me! I have nothing to say to you."

Ben emerges half in shadow from the darkness of his throne. His eyes are closed and when he opens them she sees the shadows alter. Like oil on water, two incompatible compounds that refuse to mix; she watches as he makes them settle into something solid.

"My offer remains," he says. His voice brings goosebumps to her skin. His gaze feels colder still, but there is heat inside her.

"You still think I would consider? Was I not clear enough? You tried to kill my friends, to kill me!" She carefully steps out from the bath. The length of her leg, glistening with moisture, captures his attention. Weak, she thinks. "How many of your own did you murder on Crait?" She takes a step towards him. "How many more will there be?"

Ben stays silent.

When she glances down she finds her wrappings have failed to hide the deep pink of her nipples, the dark thatch between her legs. She is almost tempted to remove them. There is nothing left. Ben feels it too. A faint vibration flows between them, silky tendrils reaching out for her. A primal need fights his concentration.

"What do you want?" she says. Her hands fall to her sides, but the fabric holds to her wet skin. "Is it just this?"

"A cheap trick not worthy of a Jedi," he sneers.

Is that all it would take? The idea is a dangerous one, but that doesn't make it wrong.

"If I come to you, will you give up this madness?" She takes another step forward. "If you can keep me and lock me up in a cage?"

Fists form with the tension to destroy leather. His face hardens into stone. His gaze breathes fire.

"There is no turning from this path."

"But you could be swayed." She moves ever closer. "I can feel it." The cloth begins to fall, and with the Force she lets it. "You want this."

His eyes stay level with hers. They are black and empty and unfeeling. "I desire your power," he says, "nothing more."

"Then why don't you come closer?"

Instead, it is she who is drawn to him.

"What would happen if you touched me?" Her hand brushes across her stomach. "Do you need my power so you can hide your weakness?"

He is on his feet. There is no distance between them. She can see the great rise and fall of his chest. "You are my weakness, Jedi. And I shall have you. Nothing can stop what is in motion now."

He leans in close, and she could kiss him. She could kick him or drive her palm between his ribs and wrench his heart from his body. Any option would be an act of violence now.

"You cannot have me," she says and her mouth parts and the moment is here. The connection spills open wider, and she can see everything beyond.

His throne is a pilot's chair, the surrounding walls a familiar mess of dirt and missing panels and wires hanging out where she had tried to repair them—

"Is that—are you on the _Falcon_?"

He looks beyond her; the fading daylight casts a lilac glow across his calculating face. "A purple sun… Plexis."

The connection snaps shut, and Rey is naked and alone. She throws on her clothes, but her hands stay clumsy. It is a horrible dream, and how she wants to wake up. Instead, she rushes into the anteroom where Poe and Leia are still drinking.

Poe grins and says, "You sober up already?"

"We need to leave." Her nightmare continues. "We need to leave right now."

 


	3. Chapter 3

"For solitude sometimes is best society,  
And short retirement urges sweet return."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

For this trip, he uses the Imperial shuttle. Alec accompanies him, along with his Imperial guard. Their black armor isn't the showy red of Snoke's Praetorian, but is imposing enough, incorporating metal shoulder spikes and skull-shaped helmets. Alec had a hand in the design, but their training is all Kylo. The soldiers themselves are only lightly force sensitive, but battle-tested enough to slow even a Sith Lord.

For any normal creature, they are lethal.

He arrives at the home of Uko Nodgrin two hours after sunset. With the planet identified, it wasn't hard to surmise what his mother’s destination had been. Uko and his wife greet his shuttle with partly feigned surprise, offering every hospitality. Their home is a pile of rock next to a silt-filled lake. A generous man might call it a castle, but Kylo Ren is not generous. He remembers pictures from his mother's home world of Alderaan and the fortress she grew up in. It could eat this modest hut fifty times over.

Uko and his servants are busy bowing and scraping. They have never been in close proximity to such power, and the effect is not attractive. Alec is all smiles and charm. He is truly enjoying himself, in the way that a cat enjoys toying with its supper. Kylo does not have his patience right now.

"I remember you," he tells the wife. His mother's home on Chandrila was an unceasing parade of radicals, academics and dignitaries. The woman, Pamphor, had the rare role of a friend.

She executes a perfect curtesy; humble, but not obsequious. "I wasn't sure that you would, sire. You pay us great honor."

"This is no honor." His choice to dispense with formalities is a small sign of respect, but a sign nonetheless. "Your life hangs in the balance. You will tell me where my mother went."

He gives her no chance to answer, just reaches out with his hand and begins the tedious task of rifling through her mind. Some consciousnesses are badly organized, but hers is not. She gives him what she knows easily, and Kylo finds himself sitting at a table during lunch, gazing upon that bastard pilot he once captured (the one who later destroyed their dreadnought), listening to his mother and Uko argue over whether or not he can provide them with aid. He waits for the moment when Pamphor's attention shifts and then, with a sharp inhale, he sees her.

Her eyes are liquid, and sadness drapes her countenance. Did he put that there? He wants to lay claim to it, to lay claim to every part of her. He finds himself hypnotized by the rhythm of her breathing. Same as when she stood before him in the bath but now clothed in her dingy Jedi garb. He doesn't mind; he knows what lies underneath. His eyes flutter and, for a moment, his concentration slips. Pamphor cries out in pain.

"Where did she go?" he says out loud. He digs deeper but finds nothing. A hasty goodbye from his mother. A last glimpse of Rey as she walks out the same door he came in. He claws at each memory like tissue paper.

Pamphor doubles over, her hands covering her ears. He isn't usually so blunt with his technique, but Rey's trail is still fresh and he doesn't want to lose it. He tears more memories apart, and Pamphor's nose begins to bleed. Her fat, useless husband kneels at her side, his arms around her.

"Please!" he says. "She knows nothing, but I do." Pamphor whimpers, but it is unclear if the sound comes from pain or an effort to silence him.

Kylo releases his hold on Pamphor's mind. Not because of the entreaty so much as the effort is giving him a headache.

Alec senses this, and rises to his feet. "Speak!" he snaps. The politeness he wore like a cloak is now gone.

"I gave them my ship," Uko says. "It can be tracked. I'll tell you everything just—please don't hurt her." His hold tightens around his wife.

Alec looks to Kylo. "If he's lying, kill them," Kylo says, and walks out of the room. There is a matter more pressing, an urgency he cannot place. She's so close he can trace her footsteps, an echo of her life-force reaching out to his. Has he ever been this aware of another being? Even the earliest memories of his mother cannot compare. It's as if her presence has left a map, and he needs only to follow. He crosses a small courtyard and enters a lonely turret. He knows the layout. A chamber on each floor and hers was the highest. West-facing, towards the setting sun. He finds the door and pushes it open.

The room appears as she has left it. No artifacts, but the essence of something. He looks at the bath that dominates the center. He goes to it. She was here, and it is as if the knowledge alone overwhelms his senses. Not just the knowledge. He is sure he can smell her; if the Force could grant a scent to each being, he would recognize hers.

He looks into the bathtub and pictures her body. It is empty now. Large enough that it could cocoon her with its steep stone walls. Large enough even to fit him. He swallows as he lets his mind wander. There is moisture along the sleek grey surface, droplets clinging like precious jewels. He catches them with gloved fingers and loses them just as fast. He rips away a glove with vicious teeth, and he can feel the wetness against his skin as he manages to salvage what he can. It is a reversal of the gesture from several days ago (another lifetime, a different universe); the water on his fingers he brings to his lips.

It is madness, he thinks, as he sucks each digit dry.

* * *

She is a fool.

Rey sits in the cargo hold of a Kuat-bound freighter, tucked into an unnoticed corner of a disused storage bay. She has barricaded the perimeter with a wave of emotion; anyone who approaches will have no desire to venture further. She's as safe as she can be in this moment—as if that’s even possible when you’re the most hunted prey of the Emperor of the known galaxy.

_Emperor._ He actually declared himself that. She wouldn't have believed if she hadn't heard the data transmission with her own ears. Her stomach churns, and she feels a profound shame for tempting him to kiss her, for offering up her body like a pleasure girl, for wanting—

She shuts down the thought with reinforced mettle. There is no part of her that feels clean, but she cannot afford the time for pity. She must break this curse, she thinks. Channel the Force and do whatever magic necessary to undo their bond. Snoke may have taken credit for it, but he is dead and still it exists, more powerful than ever. And now it has endangered Leia and Poe.

They are safely away, thank Gods, traveling at lightspeed toward another corner of the galaxy, a place Rey cannot find save for the tracking device she wears on her wrist. It's a risk, but she thinks she'd go crazy without it, that without the tiny blue light flashing like a heartbeat she would be left to face an unbearable truth. That she is all alone and there is no one coming back for her and the darkness is endless and she will drown in it. (She remembers when Ben had laid it out for her.) Moisture appears unbidden on her cheeks, and she wipes it off angrily. She does not have time for this.

Before her is a rucksack, and beside it, all her worldly possessions: her staff, three days' hard rations, a canteen, a small glow stick, and two treasures beyond compare. The first are the books she took from the Jedi temple on Ahch-To. The second is Luke's old lightsaber, its body broken and kyber crystal split in two.

Which first? she thinks. Wisdom or defense? She goes with wisdom, and begins to read the ancient texts. Their words are soothing, but they offer no comfort. They speak of peace when her mind is at war. They speak of balance when she is sliding over the edge of sanity.

She is in no mood for teachings tonight.

Instead she begins to work on the saber, carefully untangling the wires and cataloguing each in turn. She tries to refasten them, enough to hold together both halves of the crystal; it produces no response. She tries with only one half, the more jagged if somewhat smaller piece. There is more room to maneuver, but she's having a kriff of a time trying to stabilize the center. Three times she tries rerouting the wires, but nothing seems to work. On her fourth attempt she achieves a wild green spark that spills out of the casing and burns her hands. Cursing, she drops the saber and knocks out the glow stick, plunging the bay into darkness. She curses again, and her eyes well with tears she still refuses to shed.

The only light left is the small flashing blue on her wrist. She stares at it and tells herself that she’s got to be strong. She can do this. She thinks of Leia, who still believes in her, despite all the trouble she's caused. She remembers her raspy voice— _I've been in worse scrapes, kiddo_ —and her arms tight around her as they’d said goodbye. _We'll be okay._ You'll _be okay._ So many goodbyes in so few days. But Leia stayed calm. Rey clings to the memory like a mother’s embrace, and the panic begins to subside.

Thank the Gods, she thinks, still staring at the wristband. At least I still have this.

The blue light flickers, as if to reassure her. Rey clutches it closer. And the light goes out.

* * *

"We were able to locate their ship, just as Nodgrin promised us. Once they came out of hyperspace…"

Hux’s voice becomes white noise. That is all it is. An incessant buzzing, a persistent insect around his head, and Kylo wants nothing more than to crush it in his grip. He follows after Alec as Hux hovers by his side. Do you want a special prize for a job well done? Some kind word or condescending gesture? Is that the pathetic reassurance he let himself live by, kneeling before Snoke like a needy, neutered dog?

Rage fills his blood, self-loathing heating the dangerous mixture that percolates his insides. Now within the confines of an elevator, the walls creak as he stretches them out.

"My Lord," Alec says, "do you wish to still show mercy to Nodgrin? Would it not be better—?"

"Let them live," he replies. "They will tell their friends to fall in line. Perhaps more will offer intelligence with the enticement of such compassion."

"A harsher line—" Hux dares speak.

"Silence!" Kylo uses the Force when his voice should have been enough. His headache is growing. They are entering the bowels of the Star Destroyer where the source of his sickness lies.

Elevator doors open at the prison level. The walls are cracked in places. Hux is silent of his own volition. Alec holds in his smile.

Let them, Kylo thinks. Let them believe whatever they want. I am done here. I am come to slay the monster.

He lets Hux lead them to the designated cell. They pass by stormtroopers who stand guard and take their leave with a nod from their Emperor. There is another door to go through yet. Kylo stops before it and says, "I will go in alone."

He receives no argument. He has ensured it that way. The doors slide shut behind him, and he disrupts the cameras to keep from Hux’s prying eyes.  
  
His mother sits on a bench as regal as ever. He has not seen her in the flesh for over fifteen years. Her companion is less composed. The maverick pilot. (Pathetic cliché, Kylo thinks.) The man throws himself against the electric barrier like a dumb animal. He growls the usual tired, hollow threats. He makes sarcastic asides.  
  
"Gonna read my mind again? You won’t find her—"  
  
Kylo waves a hand, and the man drops to the floor. A Force sleep seems too kind, but he will not waste his time dealing with the help.  
  
"Was that really necessary?" his mother says, unmoved.  
  
Kylo only stares as she surveys him.  
  
"You got tall."  
  
"Did they harm you?" he says.  
  
"It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. When is your redheaded friend planning my execution?"  
  
"He requires my authority to make such a call." Kylo reveals something in his palm. He lets it in hang from his index finger. A crude tracking device. It had already been damaged beyond repair when his mother and the pilot were apprehended. "Tell me where she is, and I will let you live."

His mother inclines her head towards the sleeping man. "You should have listened to him before you knocked him out."

"WHERE IS SHE?"

The walls are vibrating. His mother leans back from the shockwaves. The tracking device has disintegrated to nothing. Kylo is holding on by a thread.

"I should have known you’d be like this," his mother says.

"What do you know?" His voice is quiet. It always was when they talked.

"You hold onto things too tightly. You can’t let go. Like when I sent you away."

He laughs, the harshest and most bitter sound. He hopes it cuts her ears.

"Is that not what children do?" he says.

"You aren’t a child anymore."

"And you are no mother."

Leia smiles sadly. "Yes, I see. Slice off your arm and it is no longer your limb. Is that how it works? Is that the logic you used when you killed your father?"

"What father?" Kylo says. "Do words have no meaning? I saw his mind before he died. You begged him to find me. Han Solo was incapable of a selfless act unless under duress."

"He loved you."

"I felt nothing."

"I did. Does that matter to you?" His mother cries now, the only times he knew of being behind closed doors when his incapable father had left. Kylo would hear her, regardless of distance. If only she could understand how much he knew.

She is weakened in this state, and he is ready. "Tell me where the girl is."

"Why don’t you say her name?"

Rey, he thinks. Rey, he pines and screams and he will rend this ship apart if he does not get some release.

"I will burn through the galaxy to find her. So make this easy. Tell me."

"She told me everything."

There is an explosion in his head. A terrible roar through the Force. Another betrayal. Something beautiful made dirty. She has contaminated this. His mother has taken from him, again and again. You can die, he thinks. It doesn’t matter to me. I can sever all my limbs and still live, just like Grandfather. Just give me this. Give me her.

"Ben!"

Yes. I can hear you now. Yes. I am here.

"Ben! Stop this! What are you doing?"

His mother lies unconscious in the cell. He does not know what happened. He does not care. Behind her, Rey is standing. Rey.

_Yes._

She is kneeling now. She is touching his mother. "Did you hurt her?"

"She is sleeping."

"How could you?" Rey cries. Tears like water, and he could taste them. "What is wrong with you?"

"I need you here.”

She shakes her head. So sad like the last time when she knew she would reject him. Not again. He will not allow it.

“Rey…”

Her silence is his answer. When she speaks again, it is in defeat. "I will come to you—"

He moves towards her. Her arms raise to hold him back.

"—but there are conditions."

Name them, he thinks. The war is already won.


	4. Chapter 4

"Our torments also may in length of time  
Become our Elements."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Alec has never been to Coruscant, though he has imagined it many times before. The planet is one vast city, lifeforms more numerous than stars, spiralling towers as far as the eye can see. So different from the barrenness of his home world, where he didn't travel to another village until he was ten. This is something entirely different, he thinks, even more so if the rumors of the crowd are to be believed.

For within this city of a city they are standing on a massive expanse of green. This is the last of Palpatine's surviving palaces, a black granite behemoth surrounded by hectares of gardens, enclosed by a sixty-foot wall and plasma border that reaches to the lower atmosphere. In the years after the Battle of Endor, all of the old Emperor's other fortresses had been destroyed, but this one—so well protected and steeped in dark magic—was left alone. It has remained unused for over thirty years. But now its time has come again.

The courtiers behind him are pleased, if more than a little unnerved. Alec smiles. Non-force users tend to fear the Dark side, even if they don't understand what it is. It's a primal urge, he thinks, an act of self-preservation. The reason they shy away from shadowed places and lock their doors at night. The promise of worse things out there, and the certainty that you wouldn’t want to meet them. This place oozes such a feeling. But at least they got their wish.

The courtiers, those desperate to maintain their own small power and curry favor with the First Order, were clamoring for this from the beginning. An imperial capital. A royal court. Snoke never gave them the satisfaction, always moving about on his ship, and at first it looked as if the new emperor would do the same. But the murmurs and pleas of the conquered won out. Alec wonders if his old friend would have been nearly as accommodating about finding a permanent home if he didn't have something he wished to house there. A great spectacle has been made for the Jedi's arrival that required a full week of preparations; part show for the new and ever expanding royal court, and part, he suspects, just for her. He is curious to see this she-witch and her Light side powers. He wonders what kind of a being could hold such sway over the terrible Kylo Ren.

Kylo is determined to make quite the impression. Two full regiments of First Order troops are present, led by Hux, who stands to the Emperor's left side as Alec, the Emperor's Confessor, stands to his right. They are flanked by the imperial guards and all four of the remaining Knights of Ren, helmets donned (save for Malaak, whose face is more terrifying than any creation of metal). They were brought back from their territories for this purpose, a show of force, a taste for the little Jedi of what real power is. She better learn this now, Alec thinks. Or else she will learn it very soon.

He hears a sound in the distance, and a shuttle breaks atmosphere. An imperial shuttle, one the Emperor had sent to Kuat at the Jedi's request. His friend watches the shuttle land. Tension fills his body, but Kylo's emotions are impossible to read. Alec suspects he is taking great effort to conceal them.

"Bring out the prisoners," Hux says, as annoying and officious as ever.

Leia emerges, followed by her pilot. Both are clean and well cared for. That had been one of the Jedi's conditions. No harm to them. No harm to the Resistance. After she appeared to him in his mother's cell, the Emperor sent them straight to his personal medical bay, and it is clear they have been treated like royalty ever since.

The shuttle touches down a hundred yards away. When the gangplank lowers, Alec expects to see the squadron of troops Hux sent, but there are none. Just a shabby figure clad in brown and gray, carrying a staff and with a small bag slung over one shoulder.

The Jedi, he thinks. It's about fucking time. She crosses the field between them at a measured pace. Hux directs that the prisoners walk out to meet her, which they do. The three exchange greetings and tense words, share all their anxieties and fears. The Jedi hugs the pilot, and the Emperor goes rigid, though he betrays nothing. When his mother holds the Jedi's face in her hands, only then does his visage crack.

"Enough," Kylo growls. The sound is barely audible, but the little Jedi has heard him. She looks up, and their eyes meet across a great distance. And what Alec sees there pleases him immensely.

Hate.

"You never told me she was beautiful," he says. Kylo’s expression is unaltered, though there are fluctuations in the Force around him. Alec thinks he will enjoy this little Jedi very much.

She says her goodbyes to the prisoners, and soon they leave, taking the same shuttle that she arrived in. Only when they have broken atmosphere does the Jedi turn back to the Emperor. Her look of hatred grows more defined.

The Emperor steps forward; the Jedi continues her walk. They stop, only footsteps apart. Then, the most extraordinary thing happens.

The Jedi doubles over, hands pressed to the sides of her head. The Emperor is knocked back a step, and looks as if he's been struck.

The Jedi cries out.

The Emperor's arm flails in a helpless gesture. His face is distorted by pain. “Away!” he says to his Knights, and the word costs him more distress.

Malaak and Pular are there at once. They take the Jedi by each arm; she is too stunned to fight. She is dragged unceremoniously from the equally stunned crowd with strained words from the Emperor to deposit her in her quarters.

Alec goes to his friend and sees the paleness of his features. He sees anger and shock and something else: fear.

"My Lord?" Alec's voice does not carry.

"This was a mistake," Kylo says, and stalks off.

* * *

The closer she gets, the calmer he feels. Her shuttle lands, and it is as if a balm is being applied to his being, a soothing elixir to his soul. There is power in the stillness, and Kylo feels ready to see her in the flesh, to hear her voice and touch her skin.

She emerges, tired from her journey and doing her best not to appear scared. She is angry at him, but he is used to it now. Seeing her features, her defiant taut mouth and burning eyes, the haughty straight line of her shoulders; he wants to laugh. Proud desert creature. Have you finally learned your worth?

Hux makes an unnecessary show out of exchanging the prisoners. Kylo wants them gone. They are invisible to him. Invisible until he sees Rey take the pilot in her arms, arms that were meant only for him. Why aren’t you dead? he thinks. I could have snapped your neck and never used the Force. I could have wrenched your jaw from its hinges before you could utter a word. What right have you to touch her?

His mother is even worse.

Mother the whole galaxy except the dreaded monster you pushed out. Hold everything except the child who scares you. Speak words of comfort to all except those who need to hear them.

“Enough,” he says. He speaks to himself. Rey looks at him, and there is nothing else.

“You never told me she was beautiful.”

The thought intrudes, and he has the urge to run his saber through the interloper’s source.

But that would mean turning away from her.  
  
His parody of a mother and the lascivious pilot are gone. Their pilfered shuttle takes off, and Kylo feels the Force around him soar. He goes to her. Finally, he goes and she approaches. Rey of Jakku. Who are you really? What strange miracle was enacted for you to exist? What alchemy is about to occur?

So close now. Come closer still. He could reach with one arm. He could reach her.

She screams.

Not just one cry but thousands of voices, a cave of mirrors of Reys screaming how much they hate him, how the Light is burning inside him and he will perish with it. Hidden fears and buried memories. I’m not nothing. Why do you hate me? Why did you do this to me? What is happening? What is happening? I feel like everything is hurting. Why don’t you shut up? Shut up! _Shut up!_

Rey! he thinks, but he says nothing. She is falling towards him, clutching her head, and the screaming won’t stop. He wants to go to her, but his head is in agony, worse than a lifetime of abuses from Snoke, all the lightning inside him. What is happening?

He falls back, keeps his footing. Draws on the pain in the way that always makes him stronger.

“Away!”

This is not what I wanted.

“Take her to her quarters.”

You cannot be here.

You cannot be near me.

“My Lord?” Alec says.

What in the name of the Force?

* * *

Her feet drag behind her. Large hands hold her roughly beneath each arm, and she can see a polished floor pass her by. She can’t see her reflection.

She can’t really see, she thinks. She can’t really be. This isn’t happening. There is just the noise in her head, all the screaming. Ben yelling at her over and over again. Let go! LET GO! She can’t. She isn’t moving. Not of her own accord. She is a doll and the Force is pulling her strings, pulling her arms from their sockets, pulling her hair from her head. She is in so much pain.

Her stomach resists and she makes the pathetic noise she made in the desert when there was not enough food and even water made her sick. She pours out what little she has eaten in the last few days. There had been no eating. Only worry. Only planning. She looks down at the pallid wetness staining the tile and thinks it has been for naught.

“Disgusting Jedi,” someone spits; half her body drops. Something connects with her ribs, and she is spitting more.

“What are you doing? Do you want Ren to kill you?”

“Did you not see what she did? The witch tried to kill him!”

Good witch. Bad witch. She does not know which.

She is hauled back up from the floor and dragged down more of its shiny lengths. It would be cool to lie there. She could go to sleep. Would the screaming stop? Where is she going? What is happening? Ben!

The floor changes. The room has a different glow. She is hurled onto something soft; her body sinks. She sighs.

There are banging sounds. Something hitting the floor. Shards of metal scatter. A harsh word. And others. “Choke in your sleep, little Jedi.” Whoever brought her here finally leave.

Ben, she thinks. Oh how I hate you. Why did you hurt me? Why would you do this?

(Why don’t you come to me?)

* * *

“You cannot see her.”

Kylo hurls his Confessor’s body against the wall of the banquet hall (the west wing of the palace, as far from her chambers as he can be). He holds the man there. He stares with rabid eyes, breath a violent, uneven concertina of his ribs. He will not hear a word. He will not hear the truth when he is not ready to face it.

“You speak out of turn,” he says.

“I will not wait for it.” Alec’s voice is a struggling rasp, but he is not done talking. “She tortures you. This bond you speak of, it is poison. It is a Jedi ploy meant to weaken you.”

Kylo is laughing. Am I not weak already? When was I strong? She had guided his hand as he’d turned the lightsaber to murder Snoke. She was his beacon as he’d laid waste to the Praetorian guards. His salvation when the time was right. She was the thing he had been missing. The Force had brought her to him. This was meant to be. It was destined to happen.

“Brother?” Alec says.

Kylo releases his hold.

“If I am weakened, then so be it. She stays with us now.” He offers Alec his hand and pulls him to his feet. “Your counsel is noted.” His Confessor has fought long and hard to earn the title. “You may speak freely.”

Alec holds his arms wide. “She has come here to turn you.”

“No. I heard her thoughts. She had no control over it, just as I could not stop her from hearing mine. The Force willed it this way.” Kylo paces around the empty hall, no celebration to be had, all the guests ghosts of a fallen emperor. “Something happened, went askew when we were brought together. I don’t understand it yet.”

“You sound like when we were padawans, ready to lock yourself away with all those decrepit scrolls until you had your answer.”

I am, Kylo thinks. He moves past his old friend, guided by the memory.

“My Lord?” Alec says.

“I hate to say but you are right.”

Beneath the palace there is a library, a subterranean cavern where the old emperor's personal archives are kept. He knows now. The wisdom of it. He cannot hope to control something he does not understand.

“See that I'm not disturbed," he says.

"And the Jedi?"

Kylo pauses by the doorway. The catacombs are cold. Still, he will have to forego the heavy cloak that he left in his rooms, too close to another’s. "For now, let her be."

* * *

She wakes to red.

The bed she lies on is fitted with the finest silk. It feels like liquid against her cheek. It looks like blood. The mattress is soft beneath her, her body cradled by it. She turns and looks up to a magenta ceiling, complex tessellations of tiles, all strange precious minerals with the texture of fresh meat.

The walls around her are draped with heavy fabrics, burgundy and scarlet and auburn, thick velvets that shimmer with tapestries of bloody battles. Blood on every surface. She lies in the heart of an organ, the chamber of a heart.

What is this place? Where am I?

She sits up.

On the floor by the great bed—and only now does she notice its dimensions, as large as the room she had slept in on Plexis—she sees her staff and her small rucksack emptied. The Jedi texts lie discarded, some fallen open with pages carelessly folded. The parts of her lightsaber are scattered wide.

Who has brought her here? What has happened?

_Ben._

She calls for him. She reaches out. There is silence. There is nothing.

“Mistress.”

A droid enters. Black and shaped like the nose of a tie fighter. It places a bundle on a dresser by the bed. There is furniture everywhere, dark woods that speak of imposing forests. The only light comes from two candelabras, one in each corner, both as tall and forbidding as a masked Knight of Ren.

“Please use the facilities and accept this change of clothes for the evening. Further attire may be found in the storage units. Another service droid will be here to provide dinner in one hour.”

“Thank you,” Rey says, for she wishes to be polite. “What may I call you?”

But the droid is gone. She is alone.

_Ben._

She explores the room and opens a wardrobe. Gowns fill the rails, full length and made from exquisitely woven materials, with delicate embroidery, and in every shade.

She does not care for them. She continues to look in the dresser and two other chests of drawers. Underwear and night clothes and finally a drawer full of shirts and pants, garb she can train in, in which she can fight. These at least are brown and grey. He did not enforce black.

She leaves the bedroom and passes through a doorway into what must be the refresher. Except it feels larger than a house might. The bath is a sunken pool in the ground. Its tiles are black at the base and red around the sides. The floor is red too. And the sinks. It is as if this were the room the Praetorian guards must have bathed in. Rey almost laughs. Snoke and his playthings. She feels sick again. In the corner is a shower. She rips off her clothes and steps inside.

When she is clean, nothing has changed. She cannot wash off this reality. She returns to the bedroom wrapped in a thick red towel. She is a fetus floating in a womb. A victim in a horror chamber. She drops the towel and stands naked, fresh bruise on her ribs, and lays the droid’s bundle out.

A white nightgown. Ivory silk this time and with a fragile lace trim. She slips it over her head and feels a twinge in her chest. The gown falls to her knees; it clings like a second skin.

You bought this for me. Why don’t you come see it? Come stare at your gift and read my thoughts. See it on my face. Let me tell you what I think.

She sits on the bed and waits. Another droid enters with a tray holding her dinner. Three courses and she can barely eat. Still she wolfs it down too quickly and is sick.

She makes it to the refresher without staining the floor. She rinses her mouth out and brushes her teeth because everything she needs has been provided for her.

Except him.

Where are you?

She climbs in the bed and waits. She waits until she grows too tired and she falls into a dream all too real and familiar.

Who are you waiting for, Rey? They are not coming back.

No, she thinks. You don’t understand. I’m so good at waiting.

When she wakes, she’s still alone.

* * *

(In the morning light, Rey takes the tip of a knife and makes her first mark on the room's red wall.)


	5. Chapter 5

“What is dark within me, illumine.”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

A droid serves breakfast. Rey eats a full meal (and holds it down) for the first time in over a week. She is used to starvation, but the binging and purging is worse. Like being wanted and rejected. Extremes of an elastic band let lax and stretched taut. She is exhausted. She wanders her rooms, and yet nothing is really hers.

She discovers light in the living area. Floor to ceiling drapes have been pulled back to reveal high arched windows that look down onto gardens. The sun is bright, and Rey stares from behind the glass of her gilded cage.

I am a pet, she thinks. I am a toy only kept for display. Except you won’t even look, will you? You won’t gaze on the object you bartered the universe for. She pushes the thought outward, to be met by silence. Am I nothing or everything? Why is there no in between?

A shrill, archaic bell rings. She turns to the door.

The Force is not kind to her here. It is fickle, seeped in menace, and she struggles to keep hold of the things she was only starting to become sure of. Is it his presence? It feels dark. It feels hungry. She moves closer, and her hand rests over the button that will let the presence in.

Please, she thinks, and her finger presses down.

The door slides open, and her eyes hit a chest clad in black. It is you, she thinks. Her eyes dart up.

Except it isn't.

Instead there is a tall, blond man. He is dressed in the black belted tunic she has come to identify as that of the Knights of Ren. A lightsaber hangs at his left hip. She has the vague recollection of having seen him before. Standing beside Ben in that mockery of a greeting party. She had not focused on much of anything then (there had been one large and incredibly painful distraction). Now she sees him. He is beautiful.

The man smiles at her. There is a perfect symmetry to his face, his features ideally proportioned, set together like a painting. His eyes are a pale, startling blue. As reflective and impenetrable as diamonds.

"Mistress Rey." He bows. "Allow me to introduce myself."

"Where is Ben?"

He straightens up and raises an angled brow. "You call him that?"

"It is his name. Who are you?"

"I am Alec Magess. Confessor of the Knights of Ren. Sui-Marshal of Battala, if you want my full title."

"I don't." Rey crosses her arms; his charm won't work. Poe was the same, and even though they became firm friends in the short time they spent together, his tireless confidence often made her want to withdraw into herself. "Why hasn't Ben been to see me?" she says.

"My Lady—"

"Call me Rey."

"Rey." All formality disappears, and Alec's countenance melts into an easy slouch. "He's not coming. You're stuck with me."

* * *

That was obviously the wrong thing to say. The Jedi girl—and she is very much a girl, wearing only a thin slip of silk (does she even know what she looks like?)—throws a hand to her mouth and runs from him.

"Rey?"

A chair goes flying, cast mindlessly by the Force. He barely ducks in time as it breaks against the wall behind him.

"What are you doing?"

The furniture shakes. Sofas and tables and more chairs, vases and lamps and all the ostentatious trinkets that adorn every surface; all float off the ground. The girl stands in the middle of a storm she has created.

"Does he want to destroy everything?" A sofa crashes through a window. "I can do it too! How much would it take? What does he want me to do?!"

This is hardly normal Light side behavior. Alec moves cautiously towards her. "You won't win here. You're in a pit of snakes. As much as you might spit venom, there are others far more poisonous than you."

Her glare is hateful to the point he almost rethinks his words. She acts like she means to send every object hurtling in his direction. And she does until she's suddenly clutching her side, and everything drops to the floor.

"What is it?" He goes to her, and she doesn't pull away as he helps her sit in a chair righted by his own Force use.

"My ribs," she says, still holding her right side. "Somebody kicked me."

She looks delicate huddled in her seat. Frail and feminine and crying out to be broken. He could break her so well if she didn't have the Force. But he has rarely seen someone so powerful with it.

"I can send for a medical droid."

"It'll pass," she says. "Just let me find who it was."

An idea forms. "Perhaps I can help with that." He drags up another chair with a flick of his wrist and sits before her. Outside her quarters guards are gathering, drawn by the sounds of destruction. He gestures to a sergeant who enters to leave them alone.

She watches him hopefully. So eager to trust. Always searching for an ally. Always wanting to make friends. He gives his most gentle smile. Pretty Jedi, I am here now, he thinks. You will have no better friend in this world than me.

"It's a delicate matter," he says. "Chances are you were injured by one of my fellow knights when you were brought here. That being so, I must inform the Emperor."

"No!" She grabs hold of his sleeve; her hand rests on his forearm. "It's not his business. And anyway, he might have told them to."

"He told them no such thing. He made it very clear that no one was to harm you."

She ponders this, removing her hand from where it touches him. "There are other ways to hurt me," she says.

"Yes." He knows them well.

"What would he do if you told him?"

"Not take it well."

She sighs. "This is impossible."

"Really?" He stands. "Come with me and I will show you all the snakes. You will learn their names. And you shall meet the one who harmed you."

* * *

He waits while she changes. Outside her room and with the sergeant he had shooed away, as if he were some green lieutenant that could be dismissed by a mere girl's proclivity. He works up a modicum of annoyance over this, but it vanishes as soon as she appears. She has changed back into her clothes from yesterday—tattered brown pants, dark brown shirt, and gray wrappings. She looks like a cross between a junk dealer and a desert hermit (and if the rumors are true, that's exactly what she is).

Except for the Force. She's fairly glowing with it. Alec's sense is stronger than most, but even so, the non-Force users appear to respond too. The sergeant stands a little straighter; his face softens the slightest bit.

Light side sorcery to be sure, Alec thinks. He best be on his guard with this one. In her hand she holds a staff, though she also wears a belt bearing an empty holster.

"Lost your saber?" he teases.

She frowns. "Did Ben not tell you?"

Alec is beginning to think there are a lot of things 'Ben' did not tell him. "The Emperor did not mention it, no." He says this more stiffly than intended, but the use of Kylo's birth name unnerves him. He can't imagine his old friend allowing it. Alec might think of him that way sometimes, of the boy he used to be, but he's fairly certain if he ever voiced the thought out loud, he'd instantly be missing a lung.

They leave behind the sergeant and his men to deal with the mess Rey has made of her rooms. Entering the main artery of the palace, Alec guides her down a wide hall made uneven by shallow sets of stairs.

"How big is this place?" She's not very good at hiding her wonder.

"Big enough," he says.

"It feels strange."

"What do you mean?"

She looks to the endless expanse of walls and carpet. It is a sea of black and grey interspersed with the silver of a hundred shining mirrors. Emperor Palpatine was rather particular in his tastes and fiercely devoted to the strict color palate of the Sith.

"Dark," she says. "Noisy. Don't you hear the endless hum?"

Alec hears nothing. "There is no one near."

"It's burning," she says, and then shakes her head. "Not like yesterday. It's just… unsettled."

"Are you sure you don't want a medical droid?"

She looks him in the eye. "There is nothing wrong with me. You're a Force user, aren't you? I saw you move the chair. Can you not feel it?"

Alec searches. He can't. "I don't exactly commune with the Light, my Lady—"

"Don't call me that—"

"—and for all I know the sound you speak of is another bit of Jedi witchcraft."

"Is that what they're saying about me?" She studies him more closely. "No, you're the one who's saying it." She laughs. "If I were a witch, I would hope to be much better at my craft." She motions with her staff. "Well? Show me."

"Show you what?"

"This fellow knight of yours who gave me this bruise. I feel that reparations are in order."

* * *

She follows the handsome knight down endless corridors and stairs. The humming has become an agitated dissonance. Rey wonders if she can grow used to it. This is not a place of peace, she thinks, but she should hardly be surprised.

Her companion does not notice. He's frowning now. He doesn't look nearly as confident as when he first arrived at her door. He leads her to a less ornate wing with smaller rooms. A useful place, she thinks. She would much prefer her quarters to be here. They enter a small banquet hall with a long table and an obsidian fireplace. A group of men have gathered to eat. They stand up when she enters, two of them drawing their lightsabers.

The largest one plants his fist on the scarred wood of the table. "Just what in the Craygorne hell is this?"

"Greetings Malaak," Alec says, amusement sparking in his eyes, though Rey cannot fathom what might be the reason. "Our Lady has requested the pleasure of your company."

"And I will show it," Malaak says. Rey knows the voice; it matches the rest. A stocky ogre, more wide than tall. Intricate designs of blue ink cover his face and neck and what she can see of his overly muscled arms.

Rey slams her staff to the ground. "I was hoping for an apology."

The gathered men ignore her, and she bristles. Their attention hones in on Alec as he calmly takes the brunt of their ire.

"Does the Emperor know?" the youngest-looking of the knights asks. He has a girlish face and serious eyes angled like a cat's. Alec refers to him as Pular. Rey knows his voice as well.

Rey brings her staff down again but this time with the aid of the Force. A crack appears in the stone floor, and she has their attention now. "Which one of you kicked me?" she says, pointing the staff between Pular and Malaak. The boy steps back, but Malaak moves towards her.

"Why?" Malaak says. "Would you like for me to do it again?"

"This will not end well," observes a knight with dark skin and pale eyes. The one next to him, white as the snow on Starkiller base, grunts in reply.

No one disagrees, but the other knights, including Alec, all make room for Rey to face off with her attacker.

"Do you only fight people when they cannot fight back?" Rey says.

"I only fight Jedis who come to threaten my Master."

Rey is learning that Jedi has a different meaning here, a unique pronunciation doused in loathing and denigration.

"I am no threat to him and it was not my choice to be here."

"Liar!" Malaak ignites a strange red saber that appears more like a club. He brings it down towards her head. Rey rolls out of the way, wrapping the Force like a whip around the large banquet table and pulling until it comes between them. The next blow Malaak attempts smashes the table in two. Rey swings with her staff and lands a hit to his wrists. With the strength of the Force behind it, the Knight cries out.

"Do you yield?" she says.

Enraged, Malaak swings his club in a wide circle. She tries to block it with her staff, but it is no match for the knight's superior weapon. The blow does not destroy the staff, but the brute force of it is enough to knock it out of her hands. It clatters to the floor, several feet out of reach.

The Force is around her now. It is not her doing. Something dark and she feels suffocated by its embrace. It squeezes her tight.

"Do you yield?" Malaak's giant hand forms a fist, and she is dragged towards him. He is breathing heavily, straining with the effort of pulling her near. Rey closes her eyes and focuses on her own breathing. With each breath, her lungs fill and then her body and then the air is expanding outside of herself. The Force is growing with her, pulsing. The dark vice around her loses its hold.

She drops to the ground. Malaak grabs her by the hair and yanks back her head, sapped of his tricks. His face looms over her. "Do. You. Yield?" He pants with every word.

Rey reaches out and calls for her weapon. It leaps into her hand, smacking Malaak on the back of the head mid journey. His hand in her hair loosens, and she spins the staff, landing a resounding crack against the knight's skull. His eyes glaze. Rey takes the opportunity to stand and swing back around, striking under his knees for good measure. The mountain of a man topples to the floor and she is on her feet, standing over him. She kicks the saber-club out of his hand.

"I yield to no one," Rey says. "Not to you, and not to your precious Master."

The room is static; nobody speaks. Rey steps back from the defeated Malaak and wipes an errant lock of hair from her face. She looks at Alec. "You may continue your tour."

* * *

It is night now. Deep in the dead of it, when most souls rest. Rey is only restless. She sits on the offensively large bed and lays out the parts of her lightsaber. She is showered and has changed back into the even more offensive nightgown. She will not touch the rest of his offerings. Her rooms have been returned to order, and she misses the chaos, her vandalism to this monstrosity of a compound. She wants to fight all of his knights. She wants to raze the entire structure to the ground. Darkness hangs heavy in the air; it seeps into her pores. She has never been more angry than she is right now.

You corrupt me, she thinks. You want to. I have no means of defense. I cannot put the pieces back together. Whatever I make will be wrong. I will end up with something like that screeching dragon you call your saber. I will end up like you. Why can't I find a way out?

A voice whispers softly. It hums a song she has heard before. She has heard this music all day.

She could end herself, but then their deal would be broken. He would suffer, but all her friends would suffer too. He has her, body and soul, even if he wants nothing to do with them.

The humming grows stronger. It calls her name. There are secrets. There are hidden parts. There are answers to what you seek. It would be so easy to find them, to let go. Come to me.

Who speaks? It is not Ben. It is not his cadence, his low harshness, the deepness that echoes inside of her, reverberating somewhere she has not ventured to. The voice calls. It promises an end to all her problems.

Come to me. Let me show you.

She climbs off the bed. She steps into the living area and to the door. Two guards stand outside. She can feel their boredom. The voice tells her a song that will put them to sleep. She calls on the Force with the memory of a dream Ben had put her in. When she opens the door, there are two bodies lying in the stillness.

She knows her way in the dark. The music grows louder. It tells her where to go. She feels the cold, but her heart beats strongly. Urgency and purpose flood her veins like fire. She is drawn ever deeper. Down a long spiral staircase, black stone and the failing glow of languid torches. At the base, the darkness grows bigger; she is engulfed. She senses ceilings high above, several stories tall. This is the abyss, a deep well of nothing. This is the root of the seed. This is the place where all things come to die.

Cobwebs brush her skin, and creatures scurry around her toes. She is blinded by the dark, but the voice tells her where she needs to go. Other voices too. The whispers of the dead. A million stories fighting to be told. She will listen when she has the time. She will hear them all.

A light appears in the distance. A faraway flicker of yellow like a lonely flame. As she gets closer, it grows like a sun heralding morning. Walls appear. There is a doorway ahead.

Her footsteps are soundless. The humming is a constant drone. She is hypnotised. She is drawn to a heartbeat. The rhythm of an ancient drum.

Come. You will see it. Come see what you mean to find.

Give me answers, she thinks. Give me release. Give me freedom.

Rey enters the sole light left in the pit of a black hole. A great cavern of books rises up before her. Shelves and shelves of them, of scrolls and dusty artefacts, of skulls and bones and rusted weapons. She weaves her way around their walls. Shadows flicker, made by the dance of flames. A fire somewhere. She feels its heat. She feels the warmth as she gets ever closer to its source.

Turning a corner, she sees it. The fire roars from the mouth of a huge stone furnace. Before it a battered leather sofa is stretched out. It is wide but not so tall, the furniture equivalent of Malaak, she thinks. Something snickers. A hiss. It is as if the flames laugh with her.

Clever girl. Foolish girl. You are here. Come and join us.

Rey goes to the sofa and looks down at its seat. The voices cease. All humming stops. A silence so dense that it leaves her deafened.

Why must it always be him?

He sleeps. Almost as long as the structure he lies upon. A book rests open on his chest, page down and held like a shield. Books and scrolls are piled all around him like a crumbling wall. Rey looks only to his face.

A sleeping prince. A sleeping demon. She has seen him sleep only once before, not restful but the dreamless oblivion of unconsciousness. What would have happened if he had woken first? She is glad that she did, that she could feel his breath on her hand and know he still lived before she fled on his slain master's ship.

(She knows if the circumstances had been reversed, he would have taken her with him.)

Now he sleeps, and there is no tension to his features. The scar has settled, a soft line down his face, the meandering bed of a river. Long nose. Full lips. There is no symmetry there. No careful proportions but a battle for dominance. It works well when she sees him. Imperfect in his beauty as all the most beautiful things ought to be.

His hair looks soft. She is drawn to touch it. She is drawn to unhook the saber from his belt and do what the voices now sing that she should do.

It would be so easy. Power. Freedom. What do you seek?

Rey reaches out. Her fingers graze black silk. The voices scream for murder.

Ben opens his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

"What hath night to do with sleep?"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

He is having the dream again.

He holds out his hand, and she takes it. They walk together side by side along the edge of a steep cliff. Waves crash below, and the spray hits their faces. She laughs.

They walk side by side, but she is guiding him. Something dark is up ahead. Something light in his eyes. She is feeding him fruit and her soft words. He is drinking from her lips all he has wished to hear.

Rey stands at the edge of a cliff.

"You go, I go."

She holds his hand and pulls her towards him. She holds his hand and lets her body fall down the precipice. He can't let go, and she drags him down with him.

_I can't ever let you go._

Kylo opens his eyes.

A figure above him. Fingers before his face. He reaches out on instinct. Not again. Not here. He grabs a wrist and yanks hard, swings his body round and twists, using the momentum to force his attacker to the couch. He anchors a knee between kicking legs. Pins the wrist down. Wraps his free hand around a soft throat.

"Ben."

Kylo opens his eyes. He blinks and looks fully. Rey stares up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says.

He is stumbling backwards before he hears her. He has to get away. His back collides with a wall of shelves, hard enough to topple their contents and send dust raining down.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry," she says again. "I should've known better—"

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

She sits up on the couch. He sees her now. Hair loose about her shoulders. She wears less than nothing—a slip of ivory silk bunched up about her thighs. She looks like a woman, he thinks. She looks like a little girl. Her eyes are still wide but no longer scared of him. They implore him with something. They demand so much. She is as beautiful as when she delivered herself to him on the _Supremacy_ , her face gazing up from that glass coffin of an escape pod. Her expression as she stood close enough that he could feel her breath speak a name he thought had been buried with his uncle.

"Ben?" He stares too long. "Ben, why doesn't it hurt anymore?"

It is silent in his head. He remembers the reason he has been holed up here in the first place. His quest for an answer. His cowardly need to hide away.

"I don't know." Weak. Ignorant. Useless boy.

"What is happening to us?"

"I don't know." Do not make me say it again.

"It hurt so much yesterday. I couldn't make it stop. There was just your voice shouting at me, yelling over and over again. You were in my head." Her words grow in anger. There is accusation in their fire.

"You were in my head too."

"I didn't want to be. I did not want any of this!" She rises from the couch. She stalks on bare feet towards him. The silk of her gown glows golden from the flames. "You brought me here and then you ran away! You left me—"

"Rey."

She shakes her head. "No! It isn't fair. Why has the Force chosen me? It feels like a curse."

No, he thinks. Do not forsake this. "It has always been my burden. I can show you—"

"How? By avoiding me? What did you think—?"

"How did you find me?"

This stalls her approach. She glances to the fire. Ethereal goddess. Phantom. How are you even real?

"There were voices," she says. "The Dark. It called to me."

"And you followed it here. You are not meant to be a Jedi."

"I won't turn!"

"I am not asking you to."

"Why not?" She begins her march towards him again. "Do you need the Light? Does it call to you too?"

"Do you know where you stand? Look around. You have entered the heart of a Sith Lord's tomb. This place is steeped in the Dark side and it spoke to you and you heeded it. Do not act so high and mighty. Do you think the Force an unsophisticated child? That all is black and white?"

She looks less certain now. "What do you mean?"

"I have studied lore of both Jedi and Sith. This useless need to pick a side, as if all amounts to what is right and wrong. Are we so simple? Do we not make mistakes? There are both and they have to live together. Dark and Light are not mutually exclusive things. Our existence proves that."

"Ben." She is closer now. When did she get so near? "Why have you chosen this? Why bring me here when you don't believe in the Dark side or the Light? If you want all these things to die—?"

"Because you left me."

Her expression grows thunderous. "You gave me no choice!"

"You never wanted one!"

Her mouth forms a perfect O of indignation, and he takes it as opportunity to press on. "You wanted to be with me, sure as you are standing here now. I felt it. I felt you. I saw you with me, beside me. The Force has brought us—"

"Don't blame this obsession on the Force!"

He does not speak for a long stretch. He can hear her breathing, deep and angry; he is angry too. He can hear the licking of flames and the rustling of his tunic against his skin and… nothing else.

"I felt your anger yesterday. I feel it now. But I can't hear you," he says.

"What?"

"In my head. It's quiet. Is yours quiet too?"

She makes a face. "Except for the thought that I should like to take something hard and smash it against your—"

"But no pain," he insists. "You're not in pain, right?"

She looks confused. "No."

Interesting. He takes an experimental step towards her. They are only a few feet apart. "What about now?"

* * *

The tables have turned. Before she had disturbed a frightened animal, stirred the memory of a boy who feared to be killed in his sleep. Now a man approaches. He is tall and broad. He looks disheveled. His usually immaculate attire is undone, the top of his tunic unbuttoned so the crevice between his collarbones is visible. A dark shadow against white. His pale neck. The swell in his throat gently bobbing, the one that makes his voice so deep, the thing she doesn't have. His hair hangs as messily as it did after he had fought the Praetorian guard. She thinks he should look predatory, but he looks at her and seems thoughtful.

"Anything?"

She shakes her head. He takes another step towards her.

"And now?"

"No."

He stops close enough that her nose could brush his chest.

"I feel nothing," he says.

"Me too," she lies.

"What about the other voices?" He moves back just enough that she can see his face. "Does the Dark side still speak?"

"No. They stopped. It was when I… the moment you…"

"What?"

She pauses, looks down. His boots are off, and she stares at large, sock-clad feet. "When you woke up. I think it was then. I haven't heard anything since." She tries to change the subject, starts studying the room. "What is this place? It looks like a library, not a tomb."

"It's both," he says. She can feel him behind her. The cold has finally seeped in, reaching her bones, and his warmth calls to her. She fights hard to stand still. "The final resting place of Darth Plagueis the Wise," he continues. "And the personal archives of Darth Sidious."

"I don't know them."

"You don't know anything."

Her anger rears up again, and it will warm her for now. She turns and glares, but he is not moved.

"I don't say it to bait you," he says. "I say it to make a point. You have no knowledge of the Force and have desperately little training."

He is always so quick to remind her of her ignorance. To highlight her lowly origins. To act in a way that speaks of his intellect and learning when she has none. Why should it matter when she is so powerful with the Force, can be guided by natural instinct? Why does his studiousness and curiosity somehow leave her feeling wanting?

"And yet it's chosen you," he says softly.

"To be bound to you!" She makes clear she takes no pleasure in the reality. "Or maybe we have broken it?"

He laughs. She sees him smile. It is enough to take all her anger and embarrassment away. It is enough to forget the cold.

"You’re shivering," he says. "You must be freezing in only..." She thinks he blushes as he glances over her attire. She takes the small victory.

"I’m not," she says and maybe her teeth slightly chatter.

"Let me be the judge of that."

His hands are ungloved. She hadn't noticed before. He holds out one palm to her in a gesture so painfully familiar, it takes all her strength not to look away.

"I'm not asking anything of you other than to take my hand." His eyes are full of longing, and the rest goes unsaid. Rey does as he says.

Before only their fingertips had touched. Before they had met through a vivid hallucination under bizarre machinations by the Force. This is real; he is here. His hand dwarfs her own. His skin is so warm. She can feel every callous, located in different places to hers. A lifetime spent in combat versus her own spent scavenging to survive. He holds her hand so gently, and she swallows, urging the tears not to come. There is no vision here. No false dream to hold onto. Only Ben. Only him holding her hand in his.

"You are cold," he says. His voice trembles. He studies her with awe and need, like he wants to consume her. "Come sit by the fire." You will eat me, she thinks. He leads her to the couch, and she is incapable of resisting.

"What did you see this time?" she says as he guides her to sit down. He lets go of her hand and turns to add more logs to the furnace.

"I only saw that you were cold. Is that better?"

"Come sit beside me."

He rises and moves to stand in front of her. Her hand strokes an empty cushion, and she is almost convinced she can still feel the heat of his body from when he had been sleeping. When he doesn't move, she holds her hand out to him.

"I only felt warm when you touched me," she says.

He takes her hand, and he is kneeling at her feet.

She laughs. He is such a strange creature. "That is not what I meant."

* * *

It doesn't feel real. This moment, this girl, this gap between heartbeats. _Promise me—_

"Promise you what?"

"You heard that?"

She smiles. "Of course. You said it out loud."

Did he? He cannot seem to master his thoughts. Her smile distracts him, so blinding; it needs no light from the fire. Her moods are quicksilver, he thinks, shifting from one emotion to the next, skipping stones on a volatile lake; she doesn't pause to consider the ripples. He finds that he doesn't mind.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says.

"I am not so easily broken."

Not yet. I have seen what it takes; I've experienced it all, he thinks. It doesn't mean that she has to. "Your mind," he says. "We should take this slowly."

"Like before?" Her look is playful. "When I showed up on your ship after a few late-night talks?"

He finds himself smiling in return. "Prudence does not seem to suit us."

"Sit with me."

He does. He sinks into the corner seat and feels her weight shift towards him. He holds still; he does not want to scare her. He does not want to do anything wrong. Rey doesn't notice the hesitation. Instead, she leans against his side.

"This is crazy," she says, even as she lets out a sigh.

He cannot disagree.

"Tell me about this bond between us." Her cheek moves against his arm as she talks. "Has anything like it existed before? How does it work? Surely there must be something of use..." She looks to the towering shelves.

"Not much. The Sith seem more interested in forming bonds than explaining them."

"Why?"

"Control. Manipulation. Strength."

"Tiresome Sith," she mutters. "What about the Jedi?"

"There isn't exactly a wealth of Light-side knowledge around here. I doubt the Jedi would approve of them anyway."

"Why not?"

"The Jedi do not favor attachments."

She sits up as she considers this; he mourns the loss of contact. "But they favor love—"

"—Selfless love."

"The only kind there is."

He studies her profile in the firelight. He thinks of planets burning, her head thrown back in passion, delicate fingers twisting sheets. His breathing grows shallow; he cannot bring himself to correct her.

"Are you okay?" she says. He shifts in his seat. This only causes her to move closer. "You say the Jedi don't have it right, but you also said neither do the Sith. I don't think your knights share your opinion."

"How do you know?"

"I met them." A satisfied smile rests on her face.

"And?"

"I think we understand each other now. But it's clear they think the Jedi are a plague."

"They are," he says.

She draws back further; he wants to bay into the night. "Must you hurt everything I care about?"

"You know that wasn't what I—"

"I know no such thing." Mercurial, capricious girl. Her nature so easily returns to heat, an unforgiving desert.

"They have good reason for their hate," he says.

She cannot hear his thoughts, but still she knows them. "As do you." Her face softens as she regards him. "I'm so sorry about before."

He shakes his head. "Forget it." He settles back into the sofa, wrapping an arm around her in the process. She freezes for a moment, then relaxes against him. He has no idea what made him do it, but now it seems like the most natural thing in the galaxy. It hurts how good she feels. They are silent for a long time.

"Ben?" she says at last. Her voice has grown tired.

"Hm?"

"Do you think we'll figure this out?"

His bare hand cups the bare skin of her shoulder. Do you want to break this so badly? he thinks.

"No," she says, and he knows his words have slipped out once more. She leans her head on his chest; her eyes are closed now. "Just want to… understand."

He can sense the precise moment when she finally falls asleep.

* * *

The fire has died before he stirs again. He does not sleep, only holds her and lives in this waking dream; such contentedness leaves him fully rested. She is a sleek cat against his body, something unknown and untamed and liable to flee at any moment. He cannot comprehend that she should want this.

Still, he will not complain. Her head against his chest, lulled by his heartbeat despite its erratic rhythm. He is not used to gentle things. She makes him know how to be gentle.

"Rey," he whispers. She only purrs. He does not want her discovered in this decaying place. He does not want questions. He does not want to explain himself.

Standing oh so carefully, he disentangles their bodies. He scrambles for his boots left on the floor, and he thinks she almost wakes until he gathers her to him. He lifts her slender form into his arms, and he thinks she weighs nothing. Like the forest on Takodana. How things have changed. Now her arms wind their way around his neck. Now she murmurs for him. Now she is his.

He wanders the darkened crypt with his precious cargo. He climbs the spiral stairs and enters the main hallway of the palace, cast under the mystical light of early morning. The Force cloaks him and her as he gathers it around them. He will not have them seen. Not when she is so vulnerable and only wearing that tiny slip (what in the names of the Gods had he been thinking?)

Her flesh in his hands is a heady euphoria. He thinks to himself it should not feel so right.

He finds her rooms as if they were his own (they are not so far away). Two guards lie unconscious by the entrance, and he holds her tighter as pride overwhelms him. Sneaky Jedi, he thinks. Her hair brushes his cheek, and her scent nearly fells him.

With more concentration than he usually requires, he moves the guards with the Force so it looks like they are sleeping. He will tell Hux to have them replaced come morning (is that not what this is?); he looks forward to it.

He lets himself in and carries her all the way to her bed. The broken lightsaber lies atop it. His hands are blessedly full, so he uses the Force to lift the parts and place them to one side. (He will not think about it: how it came to be wrenched in two; how he has left her with no weapon.) Using the same Force, he draws back the sheets and lays her down. Her arms won't unlock from around him.

"Ben," she says. She is waking now. He is come undone.

"Rey." He hears her; she is begging for him.

Ben. Stay with me. Ben, don't leave. Stay here. Stay with me. I need you. Please. Her eyes flutter open. Her thoughts are clear in his mind.

Kiss me.

Lords, how he wants to. He leans forward, and the voices become a screeching howl.

Don't go, she says, but her mouth doesn't move. Don't go again. Don't leave. I won't, he thinks. But his mind is in agony. It is all too much. The screams of a day ago are tearing into him again.

Her eyes open wider now. Not in desire but in pain, and he knows—

"Ben!"

Rey releases him. Her hands grasp her head. She curls up, face pressed to a pillow.

Ben! It is his name she screams. It is too loud. It hurts too much. He stumbles backwards, feet moving without his permission.

Ben, don't go!

_I'm sorry—_

Don't leave me!

It is all he can hear as he flees.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to everyone who's been reading! This is last of the already-written chapters, so now you get to experience this thing with me in real time. The good news is I'm almost done with 8, and have a fair amount done on 9 and 10, so the plan will still be to post as often as I can. I can't thank everyone enough for reading and for the amazing feedback. I hope you enjoy where we go next!
> 
> Also, just a heads up—this is the chapter where our story starts to earn its E rating. (No, sadly it's not those two.) ((But we will get there.)) (((Like, a lot.)))

"Wolves shall succeed for teachers, grievous wolves"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

He pounds into her. The slap of their bodies together does not satisfy; like a fist against a door, he wants to smash his hand through to the other side. The body beneath him pants and writhes, sweat-glistening skin, tits that bounce until he takes a nipple between his teeth and bites too hard. Blond hair forms a ragged halo against the pillow, and her mouth hangs open as it emits pained moans scattershot with pleasure. He imagines a brunette as he grips and spreads thighs further apart. He imagines breasts that fit into the palms of his hands. Wide eyes. That filthy Jedi mouth.

When it is over, he makes her dress and walks her to the door. He has to remove her arms from around him as she tries to kiss his neck and demands when they will meet again.

"I'll be in touch," he says, her chin in his hand. He wonders how hard he'd have to squeeze to crush it.

Over the woman's head he sees a flicker in the shadows. The hallway is cast in grey light, and the image is only there for a moment, like a damaged holovid. A tall figure in black and the glimpse of a smaller one in white curled up in their arms.

Alec kisses the woman. "Go," he says. She smiles at him and, with a push from the Force, she obeys.

He throws on the rest of his clothes and goes to investigate.

Outside the Jedi's rooms two guards lie sleeping, propped awkwardly against a wall. A cursory probe tells him their sleep is the work of the Force. Why would Kylo need to knock them out? Unless—

The doors to the Jedi's rooms slide open, and the same dark figure emerges. Kylo Ren never runs, but the speed of his pace is as close as Alec has seen to the effort. He keeps himself hidden and watches as the Supreme Leader returns to his own quarters like a chastised child. Were his advances already rejected?

Back at the academy, Ben had no interest in sex. There was one girl in their class, and Ben always ignored her, until she tried to stop him with a lightsaber and he ran her through with his own. Not the penetration a woman hopes for, Alec thinks. He oft wondered if maybe Ben's tastes ran to boys, but when they had showered together and sparred without shirts and sat and talked, making grand plans for a new order, nothing in Ben stirred. Why, he has probably never even taken himself by the hand, Alec thinks. The boy was a monk and the man in his ardor too; his only lust had been for power. But now it seems he is come apart by this inexplicable scrap of a girl.

When Alec sees him again only a few hours later, Kylo is returned to order. He is composed in every part of his appearance except for his eyes.

"I will be leaving," he says.

"To where?"

"I cannot say."

"Until when?"

Kylo regards him like his patience has been pushed to its limit. Alec refrains from prying more.

"My Lord. How may I be of service in your absence?"

"Watch the girl. Have Hux's men who guard her rooms replaced. Their performance has been less than satisfactory."

"Is that all?"

"You are responsible for her safety. If she lacks anything… if she is hurt…"

"She will want for nothing, my Lord."

With that, the Emperor is gone.

Alec sees in his old friend a frightening determination. He will not be diverted from whatever cause he is set upon. Still, Alec is in the dark as to what this new mission might be. The one thing he is certain of is that it relates to the girl.

Speaking of which, Alec takes his given duties very seriously. He goes to her rooms and has the guards removed. He buzzes and waits. It is exactly as the day before. Is this his new life now? Babysitting the Emperor's pet. He wonders if she will be wearing the same silk slip.

"Oh," she says when the doors slide open. "So he is gone."

She appears with a blanket wrapped around her. Her hair is messy, like she's just been fucked, but Alec knows that is not the case. Her eyes are red and swollen; she has been crying.

"Are you okay?" he says.

"No. I am not okay."

"Would you like to beat up more Knights of Ren?"

This earns the hint of a smile. "I might prefer a challenge."

"A challenge, you say?" He pretends to consider. He will have to meet with Hux at some point today. He can picture the General's face as crimson as his hair when he hears of the Emperor's departure. His disgust when he meets the girl. His desire to wipe the Resistance out. His wish to destroy Ren.

(There had been a conversation over the terms of the Jedi's surrender. Kylo had agreed not only to let his mother go but to no longer pursue the Resistance. Hux had declared it the height of insanity, and Alec had silently agreed. His friend must have another plan. It is why Alec ensured a tracking device was placed on the ship Organa and her pilot had left on. The time will come, he knows, but Kylo can be patient when required. He has taught Alec how to play the long game.)

"Would you like to accompany me?" Alec says. "To see how boring the running of an empire can be."

"You make it sound so tempting." She glances behind her and says, "Wait while I change."

Alec follows her inside. She stops at the entrance to her bedroom. The light from the windows hits her face, and he sees the glint of tears, like cut glass. Misery becomes her, he thinks. The whole effect is rather fetching.

"Did he say when he was coming back?" Her voice belies that she is aware of the answer.

"No." Alec is still unsure of how she even knows that Kylo has gone away; he does not relish the idea that the Emperor tells her more than he tells his Confessor.

"Then I will just have to learn how to run an empire without him."

Perhaps his suggestion has been a mistake.

* * *

She returns dressed in gray and brown. Clean clothes to be sure, but something of a political statement.

"You should try to avoid looking so much like a Jedi in public."

"Why?" she says. "It is who I am." She is certainly the galaxy's angriest Light-sider.

"Are you sure?"

She scrunches up her face in displeasure as they make to depart.

"Did the Emperor not provide alternative clothes for you?" he says.

"He does not decide what I wear."

"You are marking yourself an outsider."

"Because I am!"

"Yes." He smiles at her, wishes to be reassuring. "But you are our Emperor's guest. He has requested that we make you feel at home."

"How very accommodating of him," she mutters.

They go outside and across a courtyard formed by mosaic tiles. If seen from overhead, the design appears as the Sith symbol, but the Jedi does not know that. Alec leads her to an annex building where the First Order headquarters have been set up. It is a tall stone tower, bricks a dirty brown in contrast to the pure black of the main structure. In more prosperous times under Palpatine’s rule it had been used for interrogation and torture.

They enter through traditionally carved wooden doorways, but inside all is modern and fitted with the cold and soulless paraphernalia that defines the organization. Their arrival (but mostly Rey’s) garners stares ranging from fearful to openly hostile. Alec grins. He takes Rey via an elevator up to the top floor.

"Has the general arrived yet?" he asks of the blond officer who greets them.

Captain Kirss gives a seductive smile. Her discretion is quickly waning. "Yes, sir." Sometimes she calls him that in the bedroom. She uses the same voice now. Alec thinks General Hux must have no clue what to do with her.

"Why does she look at you like that?" Rey whispers as they approach large office doors.

"How do you look at the things you desire?"

The girl’s expression stumbles between confusion and an understanding blush; Alec is delighted. He holds open the doors and beckons her inside. Hux bellows from within.

"What is the meaning of this?" The General stands behind his desk, arms outstretched and gripping its edges. The room is uninvitingly gray and empty as its owner.

"I come as representative of the Emperor—"

"Who is where?"

"That is on a need to know basis." Alec gestures for Rey to take a seat. "And you do not need to."

"The running of this Empire seems to have taken second place to chasing about after—" Hux glares at Rey and visibly spits. "Do. Not. Sit. Down."

"Who are you?" she says. Her stance shows no intention to sit; she is ready for a fight.

Hux is too. "Remove her!" he says, glare shifting back to Alec as he points an accusing finger at Rey. "You dare to come in here and insult me by bringing the Supreme Leader's murderer—"

"Is the Supreme Leader dead?" Alec raises a hand and forces Hux into his chair. "Be careful how you speak to her."

Hux sputters as he tries to respond. Rey regards him hatefully. "You don't have to do that," she says.

"Very well." Alec releases his hold. "The Emperor is unhappy with the men you have provided to guard Lady Rey. They are relieved of their duty."

"They were rendered unconscious—"

"Our business is done. Any other concerns, you may relay to me in the Emperor's absence."

"What about the—"

Alec silences Hux before he can finish his sentence. They will not discuss the Resistance in the Jedi's presence. "Come," he says and guides Rey from the room.

They are in the elevator before she speaks again.

"Despicable man." Her voice is shaking. "I could sense what he did. All the people he's killed." It seems the destruction of the Hosnian system is not Hux's worst crime though. "He wants Ben dead."

"Many do," Alec says.

"You say that as if it is of no consequence."

"It is the Sith way. You must make enemies if you are to rise to power. And you must keep them cowed if you are to hold onto it."

"It is a stupid way. Ben isn't—"

"What?"

She looks as if she has said too much. "It is a weak way to make allies is all I mean." She is quiet for another moment then says, "Hux thinks I killed Snoke."

"Did you not?"

Her eyes flash to his, clearly worried.

"Your secret is safe," he says and does not hide his smile.

"Then why did Ben—?"

"You may cling to Jedi ideals but you are not without common sense, surely. And Hux suspects; he is not as foolish as he looks."

"Which is why he wants Ben dead."

"He has always wanted 'Ben' dead."

"Why?"

"Because he is jealous. Because he thirsts for power like a nomad in search of water in a desert. Rumor has it the man sacrificed his own father to get where he is."

Rey says nothing further. Alec thinks she does not like to accept that her precious Ben and the despicable Hux have anything in common.

* * *

After they have met with the General, there is a gathering of the Knights of Ren back in the same banquet hall. They are much more accepting of Rey’s presence following her defeat of Malaak. They even let her sit at their table as Alec informs them of the Emperor's departure.

"When are we to be allowed to return to our territories?" the ghostly pale one says. His name is Vadanav, and it is the first time Rey has heard him speak.

"Upon our Master's return," Alec says. "For now, your presence is required here. The military wing of the First Order are yet to be won over. We must maintain a show of strength. Our territories are secure."

"Why has the Emperor been called away?" the boy Pular says. His eyes often dart to Rey, and she feels odd fluctuations in the Force as if he is testing out its behavior around her.

"That is the Emperor's business."

"Does his Confessor not know?" Vadanav is rather chatty today. He exchanges a look with his darker counterpart. Conversations are occurring that Rey cannot hear.

Alec looks at her and says, "Ersn over there just tried to read my mind. We are all great friends and allies here. A happy Sith family."

"A dysfunctional one," Malaak says. "We even adopted a Jedi." This triggers laughter from the other Knights. Rey wants to laugh too, even if the joke is at her expense. She gets the sense that she has won their respect.

"I trust the Emperor's judgment," Malaak continues, "but playing politics is not what I trained for. Where are our battles to fight?"

"This is still a war," Alec says, "but our victory does not simply rely on bloodshed. We stay true to the Emperor's vision. Is that not why we pledged him our lives? Why we followed him out the ruins of Skywalker's temple?"

All express their agreement. All except Rey.

"I know what Skywalker did," she says. "And I am sorry. He was sorry too. He knew his mistake."

Everyone stares as if she has grown six heads, perhaps even seven. It is only Alec who looks at her like he always knew her disfigurement. "You think trying to kill his nephew was his only mistake?" he says. His voice is pitying, his eyes steeped in malice.

"I…" She rises from the table. The other Knights rise too. Alec stays seated.

He gestures with a mocking hand. "Go, say your piece. Entreat us with the Light. We are all dying to hear how Luke Skywalker tried to save us."

Where does this hatred come from? she thinks. She is out of her depth. The world is so complicated here. No black or white, like Ben had said. She is the unsophisticated child. The Force screams in her head, and she does not know how to handle it. She does not know how to handle any of this.

Instinct tells her to let this be, and for the moment, she listens. "I spoke out of turn. Excuse me."

She walks out of the room, her heart pleading that she runs. Nobody follows. No one cares to know where she goes or how she is. She has only one sanctuary and that is her blasted quarters, but she does not want to go there. To the library, she thinks. Do the voices have answers? A treacherous part of her even wonders if that is where Ben resides, but she knows he is no longer even on the planet. She can sense that at least.

People stare at her. An outsider. The Jedi with seven heads. It is hard to retrace all her footsteps in the daylight. She is lost and grows tired. Eventually she ends up wandering the main corridor, familiar enough that she can follow it back to where her rooms are located.

New guards stand by the doors and let her in. She lies on the bed and stares at the patterned ceiling. Darkness drips from every surface. It sings to her as it always does. She has made two scratches on the wall. Two days of being abandoned by the only friend she has left. Is that even the word? What goes on between them? He had been so kind. So much understanding. She is in awe of how he can just sit and listen. How he says what he thinks. He does not sugarcoat the truth for her. But he runs so easily. She let herself get too attached.

The Force, she thinks. The Force did this. It must be able to break us apart. We must be able to be free.

She retrieves the Jedi texts and reads what she can. But what is she even trying to find? She has no teacher. There is no one to guide her.

Dinner comes via droid, and she consumes it all. She paces. She will not give up trying to solve this riddle.

Why did the Knights of Ren reject the Jedi code? How did Luke fail them? What is the way that she is not seeing? Why is the Force screwing with them all?

She goes to the door; the guards let her past. (She might have made the suggestion, but it did not take as much persuasion as she thought.) She lets the Force guide her. Not the library tonight, but the rooms of another. She knows somehow this is where he lives.

She reaches the doors and presses the buzzer. She does not expect an answer. And yet he appears.

* * *

"I'm sorry I…"

"Rey?"

She blinks at him, and he blinks at her. Moments pass until—to his shame—it is the nervous girl who first gains composure.

"Can I come in?"

Alec moves aside. He does not know if he is breaching his orders from the Emperor, but at least he can say he is ensuring her well-being. (The few hours he had let her run loose around the palace he has made sure will never be mentioned again.)

"What can I do for you?" he says.

He follows her inside, watching as she takes in the opulent decor of his apartments. He likes grand things. Beautiful things. Rich colors and sensual fabrics. There are huge canvasses on the walls, old and contemporary; sculptures of armoured warriors and exposed bodies, posed together and on the verge of embracing. Rugs that have taken centuries to weave spread far enough to cover the floors. He could tell you their stories. The origin of the green rock from Korriban that holds pride of place on his desk. The eight-foot lance cast from molten lava that forms the top of the fireplace.

He wants to know what she sees. He waits as she turns in a full circle and stops.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No." He nods to his desk and the pile of datapads upon it. "Just going through intelligence reports while the Emperor is away."

"You have to do that?"

"Yeah."

"Anything interesting?"

"That would be classified." He smiles as he realizes she takes his words seriously. "It's pretty boring stuff. Kylo likes to read every page, but I much prefer to keep to the salient points."

"How does he read so much?" she says.

"You noticed?" He directs her to a sofa, dark green, and he thinks it brings out the same flecks in her eyes. He sits down on a nearby chair, hands between his knees. "I apologize—"

"No. I should—"

"For what?"

Her head bows. "I should not speak of things I know nothing about."

He shrugs. "Things are never what they seem on the surface."

"I know." Her hands are folded in her lap; her eyes stay cast down. He waits for her to continue. "I don't know why I'm here," she whispers.

"Not drawn by my company?"

She glances to him and smiles, although it fades within a moment. "I don't have anyone I can talk to."

"He will come back."

"But when?"

Alec doesn't have an answer. "Is this to do with what happened when you arrived? When you got too close… there was something in the Force."

"It doesn't like us being together. I can't make sense of it. It created this bond and now we are in the same place and when Ben and I are near it's like everything inside my head is screaming. We're in pain and I can hear his thoughts and I have no control." She leans closer towards him. "Do you know what that's like?"

"The Force has never quite spoken to me like it does to you."

"Then you are lucky."

Yes, he thinks. How unfortunate to be so naturally powerful.

"I need help," she says. "Ben was the only one and now he's gone…" She stares fully at him, and Alec thinks he might be lost to one of her strange abilities.

"You want my help."

"I want to understand—"

The buzzer goes again. Who at this time? He asks Rey to wait and storms to the door in irritation.

"What?"

It slides back to reveal Captain Kirss. "Hey," she says, her voice a soft drawl. One finger curled around blond hair. A too eager smile. "I thought that maybe we could—"

"Leave now and don't come back," Alec says.

The woman’s hand drops and her eyes glaze over. "I will leave now and I won't come back."

He closes the door on her retreating form and returns to the one who he is really drawn to.

"Who was that?" Rey says.

"More work. I wasn't in the mood." Alec sits down on the sofa beside her. "Now tell me, my Lady, how I can help you?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whew! This chapter was a pickle. It involved several rewrites and a complete POV change that I won't bore you with. Hopefully I got things right. I want to thank everyone so much for reading and for your kind words and wonderful comments. They mean so much.
> 
> All right, here we go. I hope you enjoy!!

“And in the lowest deep a lower deep,  
Still threat’ning to devour me, opens wide”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

His grandfather’s castle is a black monolith. It rises from the molten surface of Mustafar like a tree with its roots embedded deep within the earth. The two narrow turrets, which appear to meet at a single point from a distance, often remind him of the folded wings of his own First Order shuttle. (In the unspoken fortress of his mind he might admit this had some influence on its design.)

He does not use the shuttle for this trip. He requires something less conspicuous. He needs to be unnoticed.

Inside the castle, droids tend to its upkeep. They operate on basic programming. They do not acknowledge Kylo as he comes and goes.

In the highest levels of the castle he keeps his rooms and he keeps his most sacred possessions. No droid ventures up here. Nobody does. It is perhaps the one place in the known universe that is Kylo’s and Kylo’s alone.

He strips and goes in the refresher, showers and changes into black pants, and he trains.

Not with the Force. Not with his lightsaber. He needs to exert his physical body. To push until a point of pain. To push beyond it.

He eats. He showers again. He enters a dark sanctum with carefully laid out shelves and a desk and a chair. In the center of the room is a single raised platform holding a single object set under a single lamp.

Kylo moves the chair to the center and sits down.

“Grandfather,” he says. They have not talked in some time. “I need your guidance. Now more than ever. I have something worth saving.” He lowers his head and breathes deep. “Someone.”

The mangled mask of Darth Vader looks on. Kylo can picture his own mask smashed and his knuckles smeared in blood. He can remember the moment he learned that his blood and that of this myth were the same.

“Only you understand.”

His family held this secret with great shame. He shamed them too with his darkness and his strange, quiet manner. They pushed him away. They erased who he was and where he came from out of selfishness and hypocrisy. They did not want him. They did not want the legacy he carried since before he was born. How does a child fight against all of that? Who would deny the lure and comfort of a constant voice reminding him he was special?

Snoke claimed to understand, but he never did. Recognition only came when Kylo delved into the history of Darth Vader. The truth of Anakin Skywalker. He understood then. No peace would come from the Light. No salvation would come from the Darkness, even if it swallowed him whole. Motive and intent. The path to power had to be in the service of a higher calling. His grandfather had destroyed himself because of his attachment to another. And she had perished in the process.

Kylo learned all of this. And he has an attachment now.

“The Force condemns us. I cannot be near her without causing her pain. I need to learn how to break this connection. If it is the only way… I cannot stand to see her suffer.” He grips his chair hard enough that the arms start to bend. “I am a coward.”

Only here can he admit his true weakness. He will never be as strong as Grandfather. And—damn the Gods!—she knows that. He hopes she can forgive him.

“Is it the bond? Or is it my nature?”

Is it hers?

The words are quiet. They whisper in his mind.

“How can I know?”

Such power. It is uncontrolled. Does she even know her nature?

“She is all rashness and instinct. It could get us all killed.” He smiles, a private kind that no other gets to see. “You would like her,” he says. “Thank you, Grandfather.”

Kylo goes to his bedroom. He sits on his bed and eats a second meal and reads all the latest reports from Coruscant. He does not sleep. He makes notes and sends instructions via holomessage. He orders Hux to defer from any military intervention until all diplomatic channels have been exhausted in persuading the remaining colonies to cede. He sends his Knights advice on how to keep their territories in order. He activates his communicator and dials directly to Alec.

“My Lord.”

A hologram of the other man appears. He stands a foot high on the edge of Kylo’s bed.

“The General has become impatient.”

Alec smiles. “You’re surprised he held out for this long?”

“I am floored," Kylo deadpans. "Is he going to behave?”

“He can be taught.”

“You enjoy it.”

“You must allow me some fun in your absence, brother.”

Kylo does not wince, but the reminder still stings. “How is she?”

“As you left her.”

“Well?”

“She is healthy.”

“Does she eat her meals?”

“That I know of.”

His query is embarrassing. His need. His obsession. His Confessor knows. He has bared too much, and so he presses on.

“Tell me, how does she spend her time?”

He listens as Alec talks. Of her meetings with the First Order and sitting with the Knights of Ren and exploring the compound. Of her obsession with a Jedi wardrobe. Of how she asks too many questions and is quick to anger but cannot help but care.

“You like her,” Kylo says. Must the entire cosmos?

“My Lord…”

“You can tell me.”

“She is… not what I was expecting.”

“Yes. I know.” I know so well. He lies back on the bed and closes his eyes. “How does she spend her evenings?”

“She asks to go down to the library.”

Kylo sits up. “Do you take her?”

“Yes.”

“What does she do down there?”

“She sends me away. I escort her back before sunrise and she sleeps in the morning.”

He pictures her curled on the sofa, a fire lit and books and scrolls spread out and her missing the warmth and comfort of his body.

“My Lord?”

Kylo pictures too much.

“My Lord,” Alec says, “is that not permitted?”

“Allow her to do as she wishes. That will be all.”

He cuts the connection and Alec’s hologram disappears. Rey’s image stays in his head. He does not sleep. He only thinks of her.

What is your nature?

He knows where his next destination should be.

* * *

He sees the island.

The ocean spreads out from its shores and beyond the horizon, a vast continuous stretch of dark and turbulent blue. He wonders if it was how she imagined. How the island appears as a mountain bursting from the sea. Jagged in its face and furred by green and scarred by rock. Ancient and damaged. She would think it beautiful, he thinks.

He lands and climbs great winding steps. As he gets higher, small, bustling creatures dressed in modest clothes cross his path. They carry pails of green liquid and seem to offer him some without speaking any words.

He refuses as politely as he can. They point him towards the top of the island. He continues on his way.

From the highest point, he can look down on every side. Due west he finds unevenly spread huts built into the cliffs. He follows another path down until he reaches them. More small creatures greet him. Two struggle with a wheelbarrow laden with heavy rocks. He takes the wheelbarrow and they lead him to where a hut is being built. Not from scratch, he realizes. There are piles of rubble all around and the partial remains of fallen walls. He knows this place, he thinks. He asks if a girl once lived there.

The creatures start to make agitated noises. Nuisance. Violent. So destructive! one says. He can understand them now. The Force translates for him. They are caretakers here. They are in tune with the Force as well.

“Is Luke Skywalker here?” Kylo says.

The caretakers go quiet. He is no more.

“Where did he live?”

He is led to another hut set further apart and higher up than the rest. Lonely old man, he thinks. How many years did you waste hiding away here?

Inside he finds all his uncle’s things. He can feel his presence, and he wonders if Luke’s ghost will finally decide to pay him a visit. It hasn’t happened yet. Kylo has fought hard to make it so.

He searches his dead uncle’s belongings. It is not with the reverence he amassed his grandfather’s artefacts. He wants something useful and has no patience for the rest. Shabby robes go in a heap he will use for a fire; same with the bedclothes. Dirty plates are stacked up. A drink canister caked in dried green gunk that looks like mold he tosses out. There are a few worthless trinkets. The spherical trainer Kylo remembers playing with on the _Falcon_. An astrogator Luke had kept from his youthful days on Tattooine. A damaged X-wing S foil actuator. Colored pebbles piled in a small bowl. Kylo recognises their shades as coming from the shoreline close to the old Jedi temple. Sentimental fool, he thinks. Piling up rocks like lies. He keeps the compass at least. He does not find Luke’s old lightsaber.

Kylo goes outside and drinks water from a well. He washes his face and hands and tries to cleanse himself of his uncle’s memory. He goes back to the broken hut and helps the caretakers rebuild. He wants to be useful. He wants to retrace her steps and see all the things that she did.

Before the sun goes down, he climbs back to the top. He follows a different path down and finds the burnt-out stump of a tree. The air still smells of smoke. The wood is turned to charcoal; it smears the pads of his fingers black. He can feel the Light that still resides here as he rubs away the residue.

He continues to follow this path. The Light grows stronger. He finds a rocky outcrop with a large crack running through it. The outcrop protrudes like a tongue from a gaping mouth. Inside the mouth is a symbol made of two halves in black and white. Unusual for a Jedi temple. Kylo sits on the cracked tongue.

He sits and he meditates. He hears the call of the Dark, just like Rey must have done. He lets it speak to him. He knows where he must go.

Not tonight. He is guided by the caretakers all the way down to the beach. He follows them barefoot as the ocean laps around his ankles. He is taken to an enclosure, a village built behind wooden walls. Inside, the caretakers and other inhabitants of the island have a party. He sits and accepts their food. He is quiet as they sing and dance and surround him in hospitality.

That girl came here, one caretaker says. The last time we gathered. Waving her glowing sword around. Yelling for no reason.

It makes him smile. He cannot help it.

“Tell me more of her stories.”

* * *

He rests easy that night in his uncle’s old hut. He does not check his correspondence. He does not call Alec. He feels disconnected from the rest of the galaxy. An unknown type of serenity keeps him still, tie his thoughts in one place. He is only bonded to one thing.

The Force does not link them. He lies atop the stripped mattress, a lowly pallet of straw, and tries to see her. He sleeps, and he dreams. She comes to him again. They walk along the cliff and she holds his hand and there is no pull to oblivion. Just her touch and her words. The promise of a kiss.

He shifts, and he wakes. Something digs into his side. He gets up from the bed and rummages in the straw. Something wrapped in a dirty rag. He knows what it is, does not want to see it again. It can’t hurt you, he thinks. You can only hurt yourself.

He walks in the darkness, the rag-covered object in his hand. At the top of the cliff, he unwraps it. He holds it and waits for his uncle to appear. “Coward,” he says. Who do you mean? He lights the saber and stares at its long beam of green. It runs in the family, he thinks. It is all our curse. He does not toss it into the sea like he means to. He thinks she would find it wasteful. He will bring it back to her.

The voices call. He knows where he must go. It is time. In the dark and in his nightclothes and with his uncle’s saber guiding him by its cursed green light.

He heads east of the huts to a place lower down. A cove cuts into the cliff, formed by eroded rocks. He stands at its edge; he looks into an abyss. Round as a scream and circled by great masses of seaweed. The Darkness looks back. It sings to him. He listens and places his uncle’s saber down. He removes his shirt. He dives in head first.

He plunges into blackness, wet and cold. His eyes adjust, and he sees shadows. The fossils of a monster. The spectre of light overhead.

He breaks the surface and breathes. He climbs out and the voices still call. They ask him for a question.

What do you wish to see?

Her, he thinks, but it cannot be that simple.

“What is her nature? Why does it—”

Only one question. He is caught between mirrors. He is caught between Reys, hundreds of her lined before and behind him. He reaches out and his hand passes through them. He reaches out and they all move together, reflections of each other. The Reys all merge, and he stands in front of a frosted glass wall. The surface is cold, but when he touches it everything clears to reveal another space beyond.

He stands inside his bedroom on Coruscant. Rey stands before him, but she cannot see him. She is in a dress of iridescent black; it hangs from her shoulders and dips down to reveal pale skin between her breasts. Cinched at the waist with a thin gold chain, as she moves he can see the full length of her toned legs.

Temptress, he thinks. Is this your true nature?

She wanders about his room and touches his things. He follows her into the refresher and watches as she stands before a sink and examines his razor, presses it to her cheek. She smells his soaps and shampoo. She enters his closet and wraps herself in his clothes. She lies on his bed and her hands drift down her body.

“Ben,” she breathes.

What is the nature of this?

Her body arches from the bed and something changes. She stands and moves in the staccato rhythm of a trance. She opens the windowed doors that lead onto the balcony. Coruscant appears before them, an eternal land of artificial light. She goes to the balcony’s edge.

“No,” she says. She is holding her head. Beautiful hair let down, but she is twisting and pulling it between clenched fingers. “No, please stop!”

What is this? he thinks. What is this vision supposed to mean?

He watches as she writhes and calls out. She is in distress. Something tortures her. Someone. It is him. She suffers in his room.

I understand, he thinks. I need to see no more.

But the Force is not done with him yet. Rey climbs up onto the balcony’s edge. She spreads her arms and stares out into the empty space before her.

“Enough!”

She turns towards him. “Ben?”

She stumbles and he is running. She falls and disappears from view. His body lunges forward and he reaches out. His hand catches hold of her wrist.

I can't ever let you go.

In his hand he can feel how her bones grind together. In his shoulder he can feel her weight and the tear of his muscles. At his waist, now bent in half, he can feel stone and the pressure against his inner organs. And he knows.

This is real.

“Rey!”

He pulls her up by one arm. He wraps the other around her waist. He drags her body across the balustrade and they collapse on the granite tiles together.

“I thought you had left me.” She is crying; he knows because he can feel her tears catch the bare skin of his chest. “The voices said—”

He takes her face between his hands. “Who was talking to you?”

“Don’t go!” Her hands grip his wrists and she squeezes so tightly. “Not again.”

“Tell me! Who was it?”

She blinks. “I don’t hear him now.”

“Who?” Please, by the Gods, won’t you answer me? He shakes her. “Rey!”

“The voice! The one in the library. The one you said they buried there."

She fades from his arms. Coruscant slips away.

Ben is in a cave on Ahch-to. And he has left Rey to face a demon on her own.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Omg please forgive me I HAVE TOTALLY LOST MY MIND. Every time I get these two in the same place my best plot-related intentions go out the window and I get goo-goo eyes and things tend to take a sharp left into a downward spiral of swoon. Which is to say—I regret nothing. :)

“With thee conversing I forget all time”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Rey wakes from the dream.

Her head aches. Her body feels sluggish. Her consciousness floats down from the ether. There is no darkness of Ben's bedroom, no scent from his sheets, no smell of his skin driving her to madness. There are none of his things, his lingering presence, and there is no voice leading her to the balcony and telling her to jump.

There are no more horrible words.

_(You will never be enough.)_

Rey covers her ears, but the tears come freely. They soak the pillow, and she rubs her face against it. The cover is rough. This is her first clue.

She blinks, and her eyes open fully. The fabric is not red. She looks around. She is not in her room.

She stares at dirty white vinyl turned brown with age, folded into pockets. They line the walls, cocooning her in a small oval space. There is a blanket that covers her, rough and brown; it is the same blanket she wrapped herself in after she had jumped into the cave of mirrors. The one she had been wearing when she spoke with Ben.

And Ben?

She reaches out with the Force. There is no answer. There is only the buzz of soft blue light that bathes the crews' quarters during the nighttime cycle. She knows exactly where she is, and yet it cannot be. She knows exactly where she is, but it makes no sense.

She is aboard the _Millennium Falcon_.

Her body begins to shake. Her breath comes in convulsive gasps. She can't control it. The last week—the last two weeks—was it even real? If it was, how is she here? Have they just fled Crait? Is she still with the Resistance? Did she ever have that dream of bodies falling into the red salt cavern? Did any—any of it—on the run—Leia and Poe—the palace—was it nothing—was he—was he—

Rey stumbles out of her bunk. The cold metal grate is real. The smell of stale food and endless pots of caf are real. There is the dark of the ship but no hum of the hyperdrive. It is stopped.

"Chewie?" Her voices cracks with use. "Finn? General Organa?"

There are no answers. There is nothing she remembers. There is no palace of red and black, there are no Knights of Ren. No Alec. No Ben. She feels sick. She runs to the refresher and grips the sides of the sink as if they could keep her upright. Her head presses against the mirror. What is happening to me? She feels like crying but there are no tears left. Just a dark sinking void and maybe there is nothing to come back from because there is no one who will ever come back. She looks down and sees black, but it is not the Darkness.

It shimmers in the dim blue light; it moves. It moves with her. Rey wipes the dirty reflector glass with the side of her hand. She sees herself.

Hair down, eyes bloodshot, face swollen from crying. Her skin feels cold. There is too much of it. A deep V all the way down to her navel. A cinched gold belt. No breast bindings. No clothing underneath. Her leg peeks out from a waist-high slit. The same dress.

_Beautiful child, lovely child. Show me what you can do. Go to his rooms, and he will come to you._

She did. She remembers.

Touching his things. The blackness of space that threatened to swallow her whole. His razor against her cheek. His clothes against her skin. She had purred like a cat. She had writhed in his sheets and there was hunger, so much. She had wanted release. She had wanted to take it, but the voice was there again.

_Outside, dear child. He will see you there._

It all went so horribly wrong. The voice. Over and over telling her—commanding her—whispering with sweet abandon that he is never coming back.

Standing on the edge. Looking down. Make it stop.

Let it end.

Her name—falling, a hand reaches out to catch her.

Rey slides to the floor as the truth crashes around her: It was real. Except now she is on the _Falcon_. Now she is alone.

She wanders down the port-side corridor. Her movements are slowed, a syrup heavier than blood in her veins. There is no one. The main hold is empty, the gunnery compartments, the cockpit. There is only her.

The ship is docked. She can see green outside. Not the muted greens of Takodana. This is lush and verdant and sings with life. The nose of the cockpit touches ancient trees, and vines hang down like curious fingers.

Where is she?

The boarding ramp is open. She walks down it. There are vines everywhere. Soft plants underfoot. A large green snake eyes her with interest from a nearby tree.

She is in a jungle.

Something calls to her. Not painful and noisy like the Dark, not like the dead Sith Lord's voice that had been tucked so deeply inside her brain; this is gentle and peaceful and for the first time in two weeks, she feels as if she can breathe again. Her feet are bare, but she can't find it in her to be bothered. She goes deeper and inhales the wet, perfumed air of a thousand living things. It is paradise after Coruscant. But how in the Force did she get here?

The peacefulness calls to her. She has heard so many voices lately that she should be afraid of them, but she knows this one will not hurt her. It does not even use words. It takes her feelings and shelters them, gives them safe haven and a place to rest. She walks further into the forest.

The plants begin to clear. In their wake is ancient stone. A structure once, but now it has fallen prey to nature, and Rey thinks it does not mind. She winds though stone walls, a crumbling maze; there are birds of such beautiful colors, tiny frogs with songs like bells. She can hear water in the distance.

At last, she thinks. I can rest here. I can be safe.

She crosses over heaping vines and down a narrow path. She knows where she is going now though she does not know why. Her steps are sure, her resolve is firm. She climbs around a partially decayed structure, and it opens into a clearing. She sees the waterfall. She sees boulders like chairs around a felled tree. She sees a man who sits there. A man from beyond her dreams.

He stands. He wears more clothes since the last time she saw him. Black of course, but softer, less rigid, a tunic robe and pants, belted in Jedi fashion.

"Ben?"

She is running. There is no hesitation. She is sprinting, and she can't even feel the ground. He is here. He has come back.

She jumps, and her body collides with his. Her arms wrap around his neck, her legs twine about his waist. She is the vine, she is the constrictor, she is never letting go. He is warm and so solid beneath her. She is trembling, and he absorbs every bit of friction. The Dark inside him feels different from the Light that surrounds her, but it is not bad. It grounds her. It tethers her consciousness to this reality where she is here and so is he.

"I was so scared," she whispers. "I was so scared you wouldn't—"

Gloved hands caress her back. "It's okay," he says. "It's okay."

He repeats it until it becomes a mantra, until it echoes with her heartbeat, until the tears fall and she buries her face against his neck. She cries and cries, but it does not hurt.

She presses her nose against his skin. "I missed your scent," she confesses. She has no filter anymore. "I missed the warmth of your body. Don't leave me—"

"I won't." The words are roughly uttered. They are seated now. Her legs are still wrapped around him. His leather-clad palms rest on her bare thighs. She wants to lick the skin at the base of his throat.

"What is this madness?" she whispers. She doesn't care anymore. She inches closer, until the greedy place between her legs finds something hard to rest against.

She's tired of fighting. It's so stupid, she thinks. There is nothing more pointless than trying to stop this. She has never felt freer than she does in this moment. She presses her lips to the hollow of his throat. His body snaps to attention as if it's been jolted by electrical current. Her tongue licks the salt of his skin. She feels drunk with the taste. She moves her hips against him, until the center of her rubs against the hardness of him and Maker—she wants to moan. Her hands are greedy too, pulling open the neckline of his tunic so she can touch his chest. She kisses the exposed skin there. She drags her lips across it.

"Rey—"

"Ben." She wants to eat every part of him. She has no idea what she is doing. She has never kissed another person in this way, has never felt feelings strong enough to act upon.

"Rey, no."

Yes, yes, we can. We can so much. I am not going to fight this anymore. She climbs up his body so she can reach his mouth. "I know you want this."

Strong hands grab her shoulders. They pull her back. His eyes are beautiful. Dark and serious and she wants to make them catch fire. She wants to make him beg.

"Rey." There is a firmness in his voice that wasn't there before. "We can't."

Back and forth. Hot and cold. She's getting irritated now. "Why the kriff not?" she snaps.

"Because you're drugged."

* * *

The ardor fades from her face.

"I'm what?"

Maybe that wasn't the best way to phrase it. She scurries off his lap, stumbling backwards until she involuntarily connects with a nearby rock and is forced to sit again. The haze she was in begins to lift and something else takes it place. The familiar anger burns bright between them.

"YOU DRUGGED ME?"

It's a good thing they are miles from the nearest village. He can feel the ground begin to shake and knows that it is her doing.

"Alec did, actually."

"ALEC DRUGGED ME?"

"On my orders." This is not going as well as he'd hoped.

It does not help that his body is clouded with lust. No, scratch that. Desire. He is not used to such things. The Jedi required a vow of celibacy and even after his defection, he had never seen fit to break it. There were too many other creative uses for passion, and he didn't want anything to distract from his ambition.

But now? Now, his body is on fire. Now he wants to crawl on his hands and knees and lay his cheek against her thighs. He wants to press his face to her center and do things he has only ever read about. He wants to hear her moan his name. Loudly. He wants to make her come apart. Her legs are still bare. The dress she is wearing has turned sheer in the bright morning sun. Her lips are swollen from kisses and her eyes are hot from rage and his own blood heats in return and he wants, he wants—  
  
"I did it to protect you." His voice cracks with the effort to control what is inside him. "You nearly took your own life. You told me the voice from the library was talking to you, so I… it seemed logical that the only way you could be safe was if you were unconscious."

She frowns. "I don't remember that part."

Ben does. He strained the laws of physics to get back to her. He remembers seeing her motionless form, the look of terror on his Confessor's face, and a thousand other feelings much too complicated to name. He does not want to think about them now.

"The sedative used was a powerful one. There may be some memory loss but everything should return in time. I'm sorry. I didn't see any other way."

She is replaying something in her mind. "And then I woke up, and I saw you and—oh Gods." She buries her face in the palm of her hand. "I attacked you."

He wants to tell her just how much he didn't mind. "I should have said something sooner—"

"Where are we?" She is looking around now. "Why do you have the _Falcon_?"

"I captured it." _I could not bring myself to destroy it_ is what he does not say. He does not tell her that he had flown to the other side of the galaxy in it, that he made some slight modifications to the hyperdrive, that he noticed the changes she'd made to the compressor—he could tell it was her from the lingering scent on the coils—and thought them brilliant. "I thought the familiar would be comforting."

She rubs her forehead. "Disorienting, more like. But I'm glad you kept it safe." It is the closest she has come to a smile, and his heart soars.

There are so many things I have done, he thinks. I wish I could show you them all. "The planet—"

"It's strong in the Force, isn't it? The Light side. I could feel it as soon as I stepped off the ship."

"There were archives here once. And a temple and a school."

She raises an eyebrow and he knows her question.

"Not Luke's. Thousands of years before. During the Old Republic. I wanted to get you as far away from the palace as possible. From every reminder."

"Even you," she gestures to his black Jedi robes.

He shrugs. "I was trying to be considerate."

She considers him, and he feels self-conscious under her gaze. "They look good on you," she says, then adds playfully, "You are not meant to be a Sith."

He gives her a flicker of a smile as he remembers her old words. "I won't turn," he says.

The look she gives him makes his heart stand still. "I am not asking you to."

Time slows, and he wants to preserve this moment forever. He wants to go back to the feeling of when he was wrapped in her arms, but she breaks away first.

"That's it, isn't it?" she clears her throat. "That's what was causing the pain between us."

"Hm?"

"The palace."

"Mostly," he says.

"Mostly?"

"I have theories."

Her stomach rumbles.

"Let's discuss them over breakfast," he says.

* * *

Kylo sets the dejarik table in the main hold of the _Falcon_. The food the palace droids packed is not elaborate, but there is plenty. Fresh bread, hard and soft cheeses, a smoked Isher duck and fruits from around the galaxy. He sits at the table and waits for her. Somehow, he does not mind being on Han Solo's ship; he is glad it is here, that it could be useful to her.

When she joins him, her hair is clean and damp and tied back from her face. Her eyes are clear and free of the sedative that was lingering in her system. Her skin smells of the waterfall that she bathed in. She wears arm bindings and breast bindings (he cannot see the latter, but he can tell from the shape of her silhouette), and there are boots upon her feet.

The only thing missing is her Jedi garb, and that was likely because the droids forgot to pack it. If there had been more time he would have told them, but there wasn't. He'd been so desperate to get her away, kicking himself for ever bringing her there in the first place, like dropping her in a pool of slow-acting poison. He is not sure he will ever forgive himself for the fact she came to harm.

Instead of the brown and grey wrappings there is a long gown cinched at the waist with a wide brown belt. The fabric is cream-colored and sturdy and hangs neatly without artifice. As Jedi as one can get from the selection, he assumes, and it makes him want to smile.

He doesn't mind her loyalty anymore. It doesn't anger him like it used to. She can be whoever she wants to be, he thinks. He just wants her safe. He wants her happy. He wants her to want him like she did when she was sitting in his lap, but without any other influences. Not even the Force.

"So tell me,” she says, having consumed the whole duck and licked the last of the black plum juice from her fingers (Kylo thinks he may have stared too long), "what are these theories of yours? I have a few of my own."

He gestures for her to go on.

"It doesn't hurt now," she says. "You and me."

"No." He wonders if she knows the answer.

"It's because I'm away from there, isn't it? The palace, it was… doing things to me."

"Yes."

"And the voice," she continues, "the voice I kept hearing was Plagueis. He told me so. He promised to teach me how to be powerful in the Force and I was stupid enough to listen. I began meeting with him every night—"

"In the library?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He told me that it wasn't the bond. He said it was me. May I?" She points to his hand. He instantly understands. He moves to take off his glove, but she does it for him. He watches as she holds his forearm with one hand while the fingers of her other tug each point of leather until it is removed. She places her small hand in his. She closes her eyes.

In the twenty-nine years he has been alive, he has never felt anything more erotic. It takes all of his considerable power to keep his body from responding. She gives him what is inside her mind.

Kylo hears her voice. He hears another voice too.

_"The bond with Ben has grown too strong. It's hurting us—"_

_It's not the bond._

_"Then what is it?"_

_Do you understand how loud you are? The Force barreling off you in waves, flying in every direction. It riles up everything around you. You reach out and they reach back._

_"You mean the voices? But how am I doing that?"_

_Because you cannot control it, you witless girl. That fool Skywalker didn't stick around long enough to help you harness it._

_"So how do I harness it?"_

_First you have to understand it. You… project the Force. You amplify it. And that gives you tremendous power._

_"Over what?"_

_Over everything. With training, you can wield great influence. But left uncontrolled, it's just a siren that deafens all who are around you._

_"Like when I was in Ben's head. But, he was also in mine. That didn't have anything to do with projection. Why could he get inside mine?"_

_Go back to your first question._

_"The bond?"_

_It seems you are not as stupid as you look._

_"So… if I project the Force too loud… and the bond with Ben opens the channel between us… What do I do now?"_

_Now that you're aware, you need to control it._

_"How?"_

_With practice._

"What did Plagueis have you do?" Kylo asks. Their hands are still joined, but Rey has temporarily stopped the connection.

"Try and influence the Knights of Ren while they were training. Control the outcome of a match."

"Were you able to?" He is genuinely curious.

She nods. "I think so. He also…"

"What?"

"He wanted me to use other powers. Seduction. Passion. To get their attention. To get yours."

Jealousy uncoils within him. "Was that the reason for the dress?"

She squeezes his hand again and suddenly he is transported to his rooms, to the vision he saw on Ahch-To, except he is in her head this time. She lets him have everything; she holds nothing back.

She is touching his things, writhing in his bed. He feels her desire and it sparks his own. When he hears her sigh his name, his body goes rigid. But then, everything changes. He hears Plagueis tell her to go outside. When it comes to the moment where she steps onto the balcony, he hears Plagueis' voice turn cruel. _Useless child, garbage child. You are less than dust beneath his feet. He will never come back. No one will ever come back. They run from you. You are a plague. A curse. You are not worthy of love._

_You are nothing._

* * *

Rey releases him from the vision. She is breathing too hard; she fears she has shown him too much. She feels ready to crack wide open.

"I never should have—" she presses her palms to her eyes, trying to block it out. "I'm so ashamed."

The room is still, and then she feels it. Two hands, one gloved and one bare. They take hers and lower them into her lap. When she looks up, Ben is kneeling before her.

"I will find a way to destroy him," he says. "Even from the dead. I will never let him harm you again. I will never let anyone harm you." His voice is terrifying; it is the sweetest sound she has ever heard.

"Will you show me?" she says.

"Show you what?"

"How to protect myself."

* * *

He has had so many names. So many titles, wanted and unwanted. Prince by birth, scoundrel by heritage, heir to the most powerful legacy ever bestowed by the Force.

He looks up at this woman and there is a truth he knows with more certainty than anything else. As clear as the bond that flows between them.

He belongs to her. As if the Force has made him for this purpose alone. Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, Emperor of the Known Galaxy is in this moment just a boy kneeling before a girl.

Strange, beautiful creature, he thinks. I would show you anything.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y'all… I'm not even sure what to say about this chapter. It's been planned for a while but in the execution… I can't even come up with a proper description other than to say I have a lot of feelings about this one. I hope I did it justice.

“Into this wild abyss,  
The womb of Nature and perhaps her grave.”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

"Concentrate."

The tendril of a vine snaps against her nose, giving her the tiniest sting.

"Ow!" Rey picks up a rock with the Force and hurtles it straight at his head. "You concentrate!"

Ben ducks at the last moment, narrowly missing what would have been an unfortunate decapitation. "That's not helpful."

She laughs anyway.

"I'm trying to teach you—"

"Because I. Need. A. Teacher," her voice does a sing-song of mockery. Ben gives her a look that could cut like a saber.

"Desperately." He holds himself in full Emperor mode, generations of haughty-ass highborn breeding showing through. It makes her a little flustered. "Now," he says. "Try again."

"Okay, fine."

They stand thirty feet apart on a nearby plateau. Rey can see the top of the rainforest canopy, and a series of distant waterfalls that connect to theirs. She can feel Ben try to push inside her mind. She closes her eyes.

She focuses all her energy on keeping him out. He tries to speak through the Force, but she is determined not to listen. She works on creating a wall around her, a shield. She will let no one inside. At first the barrier is thin and wavering, and she can feel it strain under his attack, but she calms herself and focuses on building the wall around her piece by piece until it stands a thousand feet high. It is quiet now; in here, there is nothing. The solitude is bliss.

She focuses on her wall and channels her power and begins to push out, across the space between them, until she runs up against the barrier of his mind. What happens next is a battle of wills, much like there had been in the interrogation chamber on Starkiller Base, but now she is more controlled. Now, at least, she has some idea of what she is doing.

She wraps the serenity of silence around her and gives a sharp push outward. The wall around her obliterates, and she can feel Ben's wall shatter too. He makes a muffled sound.

When she opens her eyes, he is wiping blood from his nose.

"Oh Gods," she stammers, "I'm—"

"It's fine," he says, as he gets his own breathing under control. "Plagueis was right about one thing. You are loud."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be. You're doing well. Just try dialing down the intensity."

She tries. She tries pulling back, but the same thing happens.

"I can't," she says. "I'm no good at this."

“Stop saying that.” He walks towards her, and the Force vibrates between them, residual energy giving off what feel like sparks. He comes to a stop behind her.

"Clear your mind," he tells her. "Breathe." He leans forward, and she knows this because of the heat coming off him. His voice is quiet and very close. "When you reach out, the Force is going to rush in. It's going to feel like too much and your first instinct is going to be to push back. Don't. Let it flow through you." Large hands come to rest on her shoulders. "Don't be afraid. It's not going to hurt you. Okay?"

She nods. Her heartbeat is accelerating for reasons that have nothing to do with the Force.

"Try again."

She does. She clears her mind and opens up. Just as he says, the wave of energy comes crashing in.

Ben gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Don't fight it."

She works hard to stay calm.

"That's it." His breath is warm and soft against her ear. He whispers now. "Let it in."

She does. The tidal wave diminishes to a gentle breeze; it flows all around her.

"That's it. You've got it." Her eyes are still closed as he turns her around to face him. "Now try bringing me in too."

She senses his energy, a column of Darkness standing just outside her shield. Her instinct is to tense and push out, but she quells it. Instead she focuses on taking her shield and wrapping it around him too.

Rey gasps. Soon the Dark is inside her.

"I won't hurt you," Ben says. "You know I won't."

She knows; she relaxes. Soon the Darkness becomes a sweet salve. It becomes almost peaceful. She leans into it and sighs. She falls further. She imagines his skin, her lips on his mouth, falling and falling—

Rey breaks the contact. "Sorry."

Ben looks shaken as well.

"Too loud?" she asks.

His expression is impossible to read. "Not at all." His gaze drifts down, and Rey realizes her hands are pressed flat to his chest. "It was perfect."

The air shifts between them. Something charged and dangerous lurks underneath. Rey steps away.

* * *

He insists she continue the exercises. One success is not enough. She must control the Force and her thoughts and the effects on those around her; she must have the ability to absorb and deflect the influence of any who try to control her. She must call on her gifts with the instinct of breathing and with the practiced ease of a musician. This is her instrument. She must learn how to play.

Sometimes, she fumbles. Sometimes, she pushes too hard. He has the throbbing of a headache and the copper tang of blood in his throat, but he tells her to go on. Sometimes she lets him overwhelm her. Sometimes he feels her heart beat too fast and her breathing slow as he places hands on her. She is distracted by his presence. Not the Force or his thoughts but his physical body. She has too much passion for a Jedi. But that was always the Jedis’ greatest fault.

“Enough,” he says.

“Finally.” She reaches out and calls a piece of muja fruit to her hand, snatched through the air from a small pack he has left on the ground.

“Hungry already?”

“I’m exhausted,” she says, the juice of the fruit glistening on her mouth. She eats like an agitated wampa.

“Recover fast. We still have sparring practice.”

She pulls a face like he is playing some cruel trick. “How? With what—?”

“You mean a lightsaber?” Kylo activates his own and twists it in one hand. “Call it to you.”

“I’m not taking yours again.”

“Not mine. Don’t you feel it?”

She tosses the pit of the fruit aside. She closes her eyes. He watches, and he feels the same state of wonder as when his grandfather’s saber went soaring past his head.

“I feel it,” she says.

“Then call it to you.”

Another object shoots out the small pack. It lands in her outstretched hand, but Rey still has her eyes closed.

“Luke,” she says. “I can feel him.”

Kylo is glad she cannot see how he watches her. “Since your other saber is broken,” he says.

She opens her eyes and lights the saber between two hands. A long green beam appears and the glow of a thousand suns as she smiles.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Now show me your form.”

She charges. No finesse. A manic cry, and so much joy. Her arc is low, and he can see her target. He parries with the edge of a cross guard.

“Try harder.”

She grins. She is spinning. Her movements recall the rotations of her staff, but she is the quickest study. She raises both arms and blocks his downward swing.

“Don’t go easy on me,” she snarls.

He pushes with the brute strength of his body. Her feet slide in mud; the edges of her dress grow dirty.

“Harder,” she says.

He is grinning too. She pushes back with her weight combined with the weight of the Force. Kylo staggers. They are dancing. He can feel her intuition through the bond between them; he knows where she wants to go next. But she knows the same of all his movements. Sabers clash and sparks fly. Red and green. Life and blood. She gets cocky and jabs at his flank until he suddenly steps sideways. She loses her balance, and he grabs her wrist, flipping her onto her back.

She lands and is winded. He stands, looking down at her. “I’m sorry,” he says. She swings for his thigh. He blocks her and burns a hole in her skirt.

Her teeth are bared and feral. “Not sorry anymore?"

He aims the point of his red saber at her pale, fluttering throat. He can see her chest heaving. He is not sorry at all.

She kicks him. Right in the shin. He steps back, and she flips her body up to charge him once more. A portion of her leg is visible through his crudely added slit. The same leg that she kicked him with.

They fight and fight and dance and scream. They throw as many taunts as swings. Birds take flight and the sky rushes high above them, as if trying to flee their chaotic routine. He is alive like the world spinning around them. He is—

“Ah!”

His blade catches her shoulder. He can see the mark of a burn. He is losing concentration. He should never have let himself—

“Why have you stopped now?” She holds her saber with the point to his heart. “It’s just a scratch.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You promised not to hold back with me!”

She stomps over to the pack and finds the canteen of water, drinks greedily and angrily and pours some onto the gift of his burn.

“It needs Bacta,” he says.

She won’t let him see it. She storms off to the other side of the plateau and collapses in a heap. “Forget it. I’m exhausted.”

He crosses the distance and lies down beside her. “Me too.”

She hands him the water and he drinks, eyes focused on the fluid sky. He can feel through the Force that she tilts her head towards him.

“Why do you always hold back?” she says.

“When?”

“With me.”

He looks at her. “Rey—”

“Be honest.”

I am, he thinks. I have never lied to you. “In all the times we have fought,” he tells her, “I have never wanted you hurt.”

“I’m going to get hurt. I get hurt a lot. You don’t have to protect me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Gods.” She folds her arms and looks away. “I hate that you’re so gentle with me. I don’t get what I do wrong that makes me so special.”

“You think you do something wrong?”

“Sometimes…” She has more to say, and he wants her to say it. “Sometimes I feel like you see me as less.”

Not that, he thinks. It is so far from that.

“I know I’ve not had your training.” She looks at him when she talks. He could look at her talking at him for hours. “I’ve not had any education. I don’t know lots of things.”

“And yet, you are brilliant.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Then why?” She turns away when the hard part comes. “I’ve seen you in battle. I see the pleasure you take. When you don’t hold back, you are cruel.”

“Yes, I am. Is that what you want of me?”

“I don’t understand.” She looks at him again. (Keep looking, he thinks.) “How you can be both those things. The person you are with me, who won’t even let me get a scratch. And the one—” (do you want to say ‘monster’? Why don’t you say it?) “—who relished almost slicing my friend in half.”

Ah, he thinks. “Perhaps we are the same.”

“Why? Why do you hurt some people? How can you do it when you won’t hurt me?”

“I let the stormtrooper go,” he says.

“Finn nearly died!”

“I don’t mean on Starkiller. It was before he defected. When we raided the village in Jakku.” For once, she is quiet; evidently, she doesn’t know this story. “FN-2187. Finn,” he adds before she can correct him. “I felt his doubts after I gave my orders. And I ignored them. It was my fault he turned.”

“You can’t control people. They make choices. You make your own. Finn chose—”

“I chose to let a soldier in my army be disloyal. Because I had no loyalty either. I had the same conflict as he.”

“So why did you hurt him?” she says. They look at each other.

“Because I was also a traitor.”

“You’re a sadist.”

“No.” He turns to the sky again. “I took no pleasure. It was anger I felt. At myself. And I am petty. Destructive too. Just like you said: to people who mean nothing to me, I can be immeasurably cruel.”

“No,” Rey says.

“You contradict yourself now.” He removes a glove. He holds his hand in silhouette against the light. “This hand did those things. You cannot ignore it. It can be cruel and it can be gentle.” He offers it to her. “Would you still take it?”

“I already did.”

“Whose hand did you take? Did you think it was Ben Solo?”

“You are Ben.”

“You have learned a name.” He waits. His palm lies empty. “Do you want to understand who I really am?”

* * *

His memory is a palace full of doors. Endless and beautiful. Some are covered in red and gold with heavy locks she cannot open. Some rattle as if monsters are trying to get out. Others are part shattered and ajar. She doesn’t know if they are the ones he wants her to see. She wants to break down them all.

One has the smear of a blood-caked hand. Someone wanting escape. Or someone trying to keep the door shut. She does not look there. She ignores the gilded and chained up doors. The black one where Snoke whispers. The one with a glass window where she can see a small boy gaze up at a tall man wearing a mask.

She does not understand this place. There is no laughter. No warmth. No happiness to cling to. Why do you only remember the worst parts? She keeps her favorite moments like treasures. But you have no time, no room, no interest. Cruel and harsh.

There is light up ahead. There is a corridor of glass and mirrors and light so pure and white that it blinds her. She hears a voice. She knows it. She picks the first door she feels and finds a girl in a cloak with her face turned up to the rain.

Murderous snake.

He holds this one so clear. He holds this one so precious. Her recounting her fall into the pool and the cave of mirrors. He remembers her lips. Her eyes. The dampness of her skin. Her loneliness. How she wanted to touch him.

Rey does not wait to see what he saw when their fingertips brushed.

The light and glass corridor becomes more fractured. A girl in a snowy forest. A girl in an interrogation chair. A girl standing amongst the trees, shaking and afraid. The need. The want. How he would be the one to keep her.

She sees that he carries her through a battlefield onto the ramp of his ship and up to his living quarters. She lies on his bunk until they arrive on Starkiller. And he carries her into the base as well.

Glass shatters. She must leave this place. She has seen too much.

Another door breaks down. And another. Ben lying in his bed as Luke stands above him cast in demonic green. I will destroy you, Ben thinks. I will make this right. I will avenge them.

The Jedi school. She sees the Knights of Ren. They are all boys and Malaak is growling and Ben holds the still form of Alec in his arms. Luke looks on. There is so much tension; a held breath before an exhale of violence.

No, she thinks. She runs. The doors get smaller. She is descending. The walls become rough stone. Primitive wooden doors. And one in particular. It calls to her. Yellow like a sun and covered in the handprints of a child, small palms laid out like butterflies. There is comfort here, she thinks. She reaches out and goes inside.

* * *

Soft, blue-skinned hands. Gentle. The kindest hands in the world.

_My Babá._

A female voice. Her face a deeper blue than her hands, her thin lips purple. Her eyes are translucent pink. She is kind. So much kindness. It overwhelms; it could make you cry. There is love here, and there is peace. His earliest memory is of these hands holding him. _Hohs-nah_ , his mother says. Named for the place that she comes from. Now she's come to live with us.

Hosna looks at him and Ben smiles.

Years pass. His father comes and goes. His mother loves him and feels torn between staying near him and helping others. She speaks in the special language that only they share. We must always help them, she says. We must do all we can. We must give of ourselves to make things better. Do you understand?

(Momma loves you most of all.)

Hosna's hands grip him tightly as he watches his mother leave. Peace, Babá. Peace, she whispers to Ben, and in his soul, he agrees.

He gets older; his body grows. He does not feel like a child anymore. A fine strong boy of ten, Hosna says. She is with him more than anyone. She is slower now. Older. In her pink eyes there are flashes of pain.

What is it? he asks.

It is nothing, Babá. It is a headache.

It is not.

Doctors come. His mother brings them from across the galaxy. An endless procession. Hosna lies in her bed. Her legs do not work anymore. One of her arms grows dark and swollen and has to be cut off. Her soft blue face grows drawn with age, thin with suffering. They give her medicines that do not work. There are tubes in her nose, in her mouth. The grown-ups all say words but none of them help. His mother cries in secret, for Hosna is her friend too. Ben cannot find tears.

We will make you better, he tells her. Hosna's hands are little more than bone wrapped in gossamer now.

Babá, you must let go.

He will not.

He sets up a mat in her bedroom. He sleeps beside her golden-striped Skeer-cat. His mother brings birds from her travels, cages of coo-doves that sing the sweetest songs. Her room is a garden. The windows are kept open and Ben watches the butterflies float in. Red, green, orange; he counts them. Hosna's breaths grow shallow.

I will not leave you, he tells her.  
  
Nor I you, Babá.

Soon, she is too weak to sit up. Too weak to eat or drink.

No more, Babá, she says, and pushes the spoon away. I can take no more. Her pink eyes are smeared with red. She is not aware of her tears.

Ben holds her fragile hand. He feels what she feels. He sees inside her mind. Pain, so much pain; wave upon endless wave of it. She will never be free, he thinks.

Help me, Babá. You know you can. Help me.

Hosna speaks without words. A burgundy tear drips down her face. I love you, Babá. Grow strong and good. Let me go now. I know you can.

How? he thinks, but there is something inside him. It has always been there.

He knows what he must do.

He kisses each cheek. He wipes away her tears. Thank you, my Babá. She does not speak the words, but he can hear them all the same.

I wanted to save you—

You know that cannot be. Help me, Ben. For the first time in their long years together, she uses his given name.

_Please._

He breathes deeply. He concentrates harder than he ever has before. He pushes all thought to the side and uses his feelings. His mother never taught him this but, somehow, he just knows.

He places his hands on her face. Sleep now. Sleep.

It is midday, but the room grows dark. The light of the sun is temporarily blocked out and there is black inside of him, deeper than anything he could have imagined. It is pouring out now, covering everything, though it leaves no trace. He makes sure to cover Hosna most of all.

I love you, he thinks. I do not want to let you go.

She breathes once more, but after, she does not breathe again. His eyes are tightly closed. He is focused on taking away the pain, on taking it all away.

He does. The cloud lifts, and the room returns to brightness. She is at peace.

Ben can sense his mother now.

She climbs the stairs. She is young for her years, with a dark braid that hangs down her back. She has just returned from a long trip and Ben can feel her emotions: eagerness, exhaustion, anxiety over her friend.

He can feel her call his name.

“Ben?”

At the top of the stars there is a door and behind the door there is light. His mother pushes it open.

He stands there, and he sees himself through his mother’s eyes. Ten years old. Already too tall and too thin. He looks at her and she thinks him gentle. And around him, all around him—

He feels his mother draw a sharp breath.

A dozen butterflies lie dead on the floor. She counts their colors: red, green, orange. The Skeer-cat lies on Ben's pallet. It is not breathing. The birds in the cages she had brought, the ones that sing their sweet songs, they have fallen from their perches and lie motionless. And Hosna. Hosna—

The old woman is a carcass shriveled down to bone. Her skin is no longer blue, it has been drained of all color; it is as white as the sheet she lies on. Her mouth is open in a silent scream. Her once pink eyes are congealed red and there are darker crimson smudges on her cheeks. She does not move. She does not breathe.

There is no life in the room save that of her son.

His mother is still as his Hosna. A thousand things are crashing around her and they are all too terrible to name. My father, she thinks. My father. It cannot be.

"Mother?" Ben senses her confusion, but he does not understand the source. He is pleased. Why is she not pleased for him?

She steps around the butterflies and takes his hand.

"Come with me, Ben. This must be our secret. No one must ever know."

But he does. He feels it for the first time in his life.

His mother is afraid.

* * *

Kylo knows when the memory is over. The tension leaves his hand and she exhales like it is her first breath of life. She breathes hard and she does not look at him. Her hand rests in his but she does not hold it back.

She breathes, and he turns his head to the side. He studies her profile (he has its perfect likeness stored in a wing of his mind). She breathes and he watches. He sees a single tear fall. It forms a lonely path along the side of her face. It trickles down slowly like the last source of water in a drought. He reaches out. He catches it.

Do you understand now? he thinks.

* * *

Rey blinks at the sky. The sky is blurring. The light is blurred. She cannot see anything clearly.

She can only feel. There is the damp earth at her back. The warm, muggy breeze from the jungle. The sound of the birds and her breathing. Her clothes shifting against her skin. She thinks she wants to rip them off.

She can only feel. The weight of her hand held in another’s. Her hand brushing the grass. A hand touching her face.

She can only feel. Everything inside her is hurting. She can only feel his pain. She can only feel him.

She turns her head. She watches as he takes her tear and drinks it from the tip of his thumb.

He looks at her.

Do you understand now?

Yes.

She leans towards him. She can only feel. His breath on her face. His breath merging with her own. A single breath held taut between them.

Rey closes her eyes and waits for Death’s kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  I know I threw some heavy stuff at everyone in chapter 10 (and y'all were lovely and super awesome about it—thank you!) Now we're going to switch it up a bit. And so with that I feel obligated to make a Public Service Announcement:  If you like ridiculous heart flutters, and force!flirting, and first-date nonsense, and hand!porn, and exotic alien locales, and kids(!), and dinner(!), and Feelings™(!!), and Other Things™(!!!), then behold (from the same disturbed mind that brought you the shippy incoherence that was chapter 9, and the complete lack of plot development that was chapter 6)…. this addled writer is proud to present, for your consideration, the swift descent into madness that is… Chapter 11.
> 
> **GOES TO PASS OUT IN A CLOUD OF REYLO DUST**

"Love refines the thoughts, the heart enlarges"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_  

* * *

Kylo hears the laughter of children.

He is looking at Rey. Her eyes are closed. He is close enough that he can see the thickness of her lashes, the fragile veins of her eyelids. He leans towards her, rises up, places an arm over the other side of her body. He is looking at her and reaching out with the Force. Another presence approaches. The laughter grows louder. Rey opens her mouth to kiss, to talk—

He places his bare hand over it. Her eyes shoot open. Her lips move against his palm.

Quiet, he tells her. He speaks with eyes. Don’t you hear it?

Someone approaches. Rey is looking at him. He shelters her with his body, even though he is sure that the stranger is not hostile.

I want to kiss you, he thinks. He kisses the back of his hand against her mouth. He feels her suck in air as he does, like a kiss in return. It will have to do for now.

Patience, young padawan.

Her eyes glare at him. He smiles.

"Who are you?"

He removes his hand. Rey frees herself from under him to sit up and find the speaker. A youngling, about five or six with a long ponytail and large, turbid eyes, is staring at them. She looks humanoid, or some derivative thereof, the only difference between her physiology and theirs being her long nasal cavity formed by a row of bone-like ridges. She does not look scared, merely curious. She waits for an answer.

"I'm Rey," Rey says. She stands up, and he knows she is trying to put some distance between them. "This is Ben.” Of course. “Who are you?"

"I'm Petra," the girl says.

"It's nice to meet you, Petra."

Kylo stands up too, and the girl steps back, taken by his height. “Are you lost?” he says and moves closer to Rey in the hope he will seem less threatening. “It is a long way from the village." Rey is about to explode with questions, but she is not given a chance to ask.

"I'm not lost,” Petra says. She twirls around once, then again. “Are you lost?"

"No," Kylo says.

Petra points at them both. "Your clothes look funny." She wears a tunic of brown animal hide and block-shaped wooden shoes. He wonders how Rey must seem to the girl in her long flowing dress, how he must seem in comparison, draped from head to toe in black.

“We are from off-world,” he explains. "Do you need help getting back to your family?"

"No." Petra looks behind them; another presence is approaching. "Come on!” She starts off running. “You need to come and play!"

* * *

A dozen children are gathered at the bottom of a hill, west from where the _Falcon_ is parked. Rey can see a small village that lies further off, having sprouted on the banks of a wide and muddy river. She sees boats in the water, feels the constant rustle of life all around her.

A game has been organized involving a round ball and sticks. The other younglings are all the same species as Petra, and they all chatter loudly. Petra is the smallest; she stands to one side. Another girl, perhaps a year or two older, is jostling for attention. She is Petra’s sister, Nan, who had met them on their journey while in search of her wayward sibling.

“Hey!” Nan is tugging on Rey’s skirts. She has short hair and wears her fur tunic in the same style as the boys. “Do you play?” she says.

Rey senses that Nan means to ask Ben. The girls’ shyness around him is palpable. They are imprinted with an innate fear of one so large and forbidding. If only you knew what I know, she thinks.

“I don't know the game,” she tells Nan.

The sisters talk over each other trying to give Rey instructions. All she can gather is that it involves two teams and trying to score points by whacking a ball through a wooden wicket set.

“It’s the one for the other side! Don’t aim it at ours!”

“Petra normally forgets that rule.”

“No I don’t!”

“Why don't we watch you play first?” It is Ben who speaks.

The girls scatter like a predator has appeared in their midst. They return to the other younglings. It is time to choose teams.

Most of the children are older and bigger than the girls. The two oldest, both boys, take turns in picking. The numbers dwindle, and Rey watches as little Petra and boyish Nan are passed over time and time again. The biggest and loudest boy declares that the teams are full, even with the girls left. Petra disputes this and is disregarded. Nan stands her ground in front of the biggest boy and is roughly shoved back.

Rey wants to toss the nasty boy into the river, with or without the Force. Ben places a hand on her shoulder. You would drown children now? She shrugs herself free.

Petra and Nan shuffle back to join them. Petra no longer walks like a dance. Nan’s eager eyes are downcast. “We're still too little,” she says.

Their rejection breaks Rey’s heart.

She and Ben watch one game and now she's starting to understand the rules. When it's over, another is suggested, and Nan pops up, demanding to play again. The other children ignore her.

Rey stands. Ben raises an eyebrow. I’m not going to drown anyone! She goes over to the children and addresses the loud, nasty boy.

“You will let all the children play.”

His eyes glaze over as he says, “I will let all the children play.”

“Even the young ones.”

“Even the young ones.”

“You won't start until everyone has been picked.”

“I won't start until everyone has been picked.”

She steps back. The haze lifts, and she can see him visibly shake the moment off. Everything he just said suddenly registers. “Okay, fine! But those two,” he points at Petra and Nan, “are not on my team!”

Rey returns to Ben and sits down.

“This is what you do with my teachings?” She can feel his quiet amusement.

She folds her arms. “Just watch.”

The younglings play. Petra and Nan's team is clearly the weaker one. The two girls are especially bumped and pushed and occasionally hit in the rough and tumble game.

“You don't belong out here,” the nasty brute boy says.

Oh yeah? Rey thinks.

She must still be loud, for Ben is looking at her curiously.

What are you up to?

Nothing. I’ll be more quiet.

But Rey can’t shut up. The thoughts are there. She is filled with righteous rage and a sense of injustice.

It isn’t fair.

She reaches out to each youngling on Petra and Nan's team. She closes her eyes and finds their signature in the Force. Quietly at first, she nudges them; just little words of encouragement, mental toughness, giving each one focus and helping them. Then it becomes something more. She can see them all in her mind now. She can hold them all in one place. She helps them move together. Coordinating, making them see what shots are open, who needs the ball next. Nan scores, and then her tiny sister. Every youngling on their team scores a point. The little underdog team is elated. They have won. The Nasty Boy looks as if he's drunk a quart of vinegar.

Rey smiles.

“How did you do that?” Ben is staring at her in amazement.

“I…” She doesn’t know. “I just wanted to help them, so I did.”

“You made them win.”

“They won,” she says, like the turnaround was not wholly unexpected. “I just made them understand they could.”

He is not done being amazed. “Do you realize what you just did?” He removes a glove and takes her hand as if he’s done it a thousand times and not fewer than his very hand has fingers; it makes her heart flutter. “It's an ancient power,” he says. “Rare.” He opens his mind and shows her what he means. Sith and Jedi waging wars, and one held back in the quiet of meditation to control the battle. Controlling the outcomes of entire armies, deciding the fates of planets.

Rey releases his hand with a start. “But I just… all I did was try to help them.”

Ben looks at her proudly. There is something else in his features, something so tender and wonderful that she can't really put it into words. “Exactly,” he says, and he reclaims her hand.

“Hey!” Nan is back again. Her eyes are drawn to their held hands. Rey feels self-conscious. Ben doesn’t let go.

“You wanna play?” Nan says. “We’ve agreed one more game. This one gets to decide the true winner!” She jumps and raises a fist in the air.

“You don’t need me,” Rey says.

“I don’t mean you.” Nan points at Ben. “They want him to play.”

“Excuse me,” he says to Rey. He stands and approaches the waiting children. Nan and Petra are less nervous of him now; they walk by his side.

“You’re on our team,” the Nasty Boy says.

“I choose the other team.” The boy looks cowed; Nan and Petra start to cheer. Rey realises Ben rarely uses the Force when he speaks; there is sufficient power in his natural voice.

He is handed a stick and takes position. The Supreme Leader of the Galaxy is playing a silly game with a bunch of kids.

“Don’t go easy,” he says to the Nasty Boy.

Rey thinks he takes it rather seriously, when she hears Ben’s voice in her head. He is commanding even here.

This is your next lesson. I want you to make the other team lose.

Rey does.

Ben and the girls win easily. Partly helped by Ben blocking a crucial shot (and sending the ball several hundred yards into the jungle). But also because Rey bombarded the opposing side with vicious waves of negativity. The Nasty Boy and his friends run from the game in tears.

“That was amazing!” Nan says. She is jumping up and down and hanging from Ben’s arm. Petra has somehow ended up on his shoulders.

“You have to come for dinner!” Petra says, pulling on his hair. “We’re having clay lobster and green yam stew and—”

“Teach me how to hit like that!” Nan is now dragging the Emperor along by his sleeve.

Rey trails happily behind the mismatched trio, Ben's voice still in her head. You’re enjoying this far too much.

Of course I am.

I suppose I can forgive you. You excelled at your lesson.

She did. It scares her. To have that much influence. To wield so much power.

There is nothing to fear. His words soothe like a caress, like the comfort of his hand around hers. I will help you.

Rey runs to catch up. She is hanging by his other arm too. 

* * *

It is barely a ten-minute walk to the village. They enter its main square, which is formed by a circle, an arrangement of crude huts made from mud bricks quarried from the mud river of the jungle. At the river’s edge, fisherman are gathered, the day’s haul piled in crates ready for tomorrow’s market. They smoke and share stories. They pay no heed to the procession of the tall man and smiling woman as they are yelled at and hustled by two small girls.

Petra and Nan herd them into one of the huts. There they are greeted by Dom and Smilla Parnak, also fishers in the village and not long back from selling their wares. Petra and Nan are their only children, and it becomes clear they love not just them, but anyone who is deemed worthy in their eyes, including two off-world strangers who assisted in coaching their fafsa match. Rey and Ben are greeted like family and treated like honored guests. Bowls of clay lobster and green yam stew (as Petra had promised) are ladled and passed around the small hearth table, and blue milk is poured into the glasses. When Smilla brings a loaf of spiced bread straight from the oven, even Ben pays attention.

He's not the only one, Rey thinks. Besides her piece of muja fruit, neither have eaten since morning.

"What brings you here?" Dom asks her, handing them both thick slices of bread.

"I…"

"Rey's training to be a Jedi," Ben answers smoothly.

"How nice for you, dear," Smilla says. "And what's a Jedi?"

"They're wizards!" Petra says.

"No!” Nan hits the table with her fist. “Warriors!"

“But he was a wizard!”

“Who?”

Here Petra’s confidence falters. “Sky-something.”

“He was a warrior!” Nan is standing on her stool and leaning on the table. “There are stories—"

Rey can feel the tension building inside Ben like pressurized steam. On instinct, she reaches out and places her hand on his thigh. Just a light touch, but warm and solid. "There are always stories." She smiles gently. "The truth is usually a bit more complicated."

Ben places his hand over hers.

"And you, Master Ben?” Dom kindly opts for a change of subject. “What do you do for a living?"

There is a beautiful wonder in watching the Emperor of the Known Galaxy try to answer this question. It is the first time Rey suspects he has been rendered truly speechless.

"I… well, it's interesting you should ask…"

"He's a smuggler," Rey says, and Ben nearly crushes her hand. "Space pirate." The whole family is looking at him in awe. "His ship made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs—"

"—Twelve—" The word escapes his lips, and Rey lets loose a brilliant smile.

"Twelve of course, yes, I forgot.” His grip barely loosens. “He's an absolutely brilliant pilot, you know. It runs in the family." She can hear the working of his jaw like tectonic plates, and takes a long drink to savor the moment—

"So how long have you two been together?"

—And promptly chokes. Ben gives her a none too gentle thwack on the back. His voice is far too pleased. "Oh, ages it seems."

Rey is still coughing. "We’re not—"

"How did you meet?" Smilla asks.

"The usual," Ben says. "See a beautiful girl. Carry her off…"

Dom laughs. "You know, I pretty much did the same thing with—"

Smilla throws a tea towel in his direction. "I made you beg for months, you lying dog." Her laughter is infectious, and Rey finds herself smiling once more.

"It's funny how that happens," Rey says, and the two women share a knowing look.

Dom is studying Ben. “You know, now that I think of it, you do look familiar…”

Rey gives him a gentle push with the Force. “He doesn't look familiar.”

“You don't look familiar,” Dom says, and Ben’s thumb brushes over Rey’s palm.

After dinner, the girls are sent outside for their bath. Rey volunteers her and Ben to wash the dishes and, to her surprise, he doesn't object. In fact, he's much better at it than she is, organizing everything and taking care to wash each item meticulously in the wooden washing trough behind the hut. Rey enjoys watching the movement of his exposed forearms as he goes quietly about his work.

"You're surprisingly good at this," she says.

"And you're not."

Rey shrugs. "Desert planet. No water for washing. What's your excuse?"

He is thoughtful. "I spent many evenings at my mother's home hiding in the kitchen."

He has never spoken to her about Leia. Rey thinks of Hosna. Was she with him? What about when she was sick? "Why hiding?" She has only just learned that you can be surrounded by people and still feel achingly lonely.

Ben’s arms pause in their movements. "There were always strangers around. I was shy."

You still are, she thinks, and he smiles. Not with you.

"Force bonds tend to help with that," she says out loud.

He splashes her with water, and Rey laughs.

Once the dishes are dried and put away, they say goodnight to Nan and Petra. Now tucked into their small, shared bed, the girls insist on a story (an old favorite involving an ogre and a magic goat); Ben is elected to read. His voice is soft and hypnotic, and the girls fall under his spell. Afterwards, he patiently answers their questions, speculating on the nature of magic goats and how long a Jedi might have to train before they could fly (they all agree that it would likely be years, if ever possible).

Rey watches from the doorway. A strange web of feelings tangles in her chest. She thinks that she has been given something precious, though she can scarcely say what it is.

The children are lost to dreams. Dom and Smilla are sitting by the fire, wife with feet familiarly cradled in her husband’s lap. It is time to leave; Rey and Ben thank their hosts.

The sun is beginning to set, but there is full light for another half hour. They begin their walk back to the _Falcon_. It takes them along the river’s edge. The sound of rushing water is their only companion, but Rey can't help but speak.

"I love this place."

"You've been here for a day."

"I know, but I love it. I love the way it feels."

The muddy water babbles in agreement, and Rey can sense all the creatures that swim in its currents, that live on its banks, that hide amongst the trees and float in the sky; she knows she is a part of them. She slips her arm though Ben's for the second time that day, yet it feels like they have been walking together all their lives.

There is a deafening crash. Rey presses closer to Ben. “What was that?”

“The Force is angry.” The look she gives him cracks his mask and reveals a smile. “It was thunder.”

“Is that—”

The sky answers for her, and rain pours from the sky. Not simple droplets but a deluge. Rey is still unused to the lightest showers. She didn’t know it could rain this much.

Rey tilts her head back and opens her mouth. She is being cleansed. All the grime and the sweat of the day is washed away. Life pours into her. She drinks the jungle in.

“Rey.” Ben holds her face. “We need to find shelter.” She splutters out water, and he is laughing. His hair is wet, his face, all his skin. “This is why they call it a rainforest.”

She laughs with him. He takes her hand and they flee into the jungle, running, going nowhere. They are soaked through. They are submerged.

Ben pulls her behind him and she stumbles and is laughing still. He leads her up a small incline and to a narrow opening. “In here,” he says. He turns towards her and bends to fit through. Rey thinks it looks like he is bowing. She curtsies.

“Rey! Get in!”

He drags her inside before she can protest.

It is a tree, Rey realizes, the hollowed-out shell of an ancient canopy fern, the space inside about as big as the _Falcon_ 's cockpit. The rain cannot touch them here, though it has touched them already. She feels her dress cling slickly to her body. She sees Ben’s robes do the same to him. He is pushing wet hair out of his eyes, and he is watching her.

She grins.

"What is it?”

"This is perfect." You are perfect, she thinks.

“Not really.” Her thought makes him shy; it makes her want to touch him. “We will most likely get hit by lightning.”

“Will it hurt?”

“It happens too fast to feel anything.”

He leans against the opening; he stares out into the rain. He is reminded of something. Rey wonders what he sees. "We were caught in a storm like this once," he says. "On Corellia. It's temperate most of the time, but the monsoons…" he shakes his head.

We, she thinks. "You and Alec?"

He answers with a look and she knows.

Han.

Suddenly, she feels ashamed. "I pushed too hard. At dinner. It was a careless joke." I'm sorry—

Don’t be.

His soundless words are enough to make her look up. His face is different now. Harder. There is a war inside his mind, and he will not let her see it. He is silent for so long she wonders if he’ll ever speak again.

“I didn’t hate him.”

If she was not standing as close as she already is, she thinks the words would be too quiet to hear. She can see his chest move, dark fabric stretched over muscle. She watches the rise and fall as he speaks. "I never thought he particularly loved me, but that was not the reason."

Her breath holds as she watches him breathe, and he knows what she wants to ask him.

Why then?

"Survival," his voice carries no inflection. "I had to let go."

The same as Hosna? Rey thinks. No. This… it was different.

There is sadness running through him now, as torrential as the rain. It will drown her, she thinks. She does not know how to swim. But that has never stopped her from diving head first. "He forgave you," she says. “I know he did. I saw it.”

Ben’s eyes are lit with banks of fire, but it is not stoked by anger. "I think that is the worst part."

Something begins to unravel inside her. She wants to lay her hands on him. "There is still your mother." There is hope. There is always hope. She believes this. She will believe it for him.

Ben closes his eyes. He closes his mind to her. She thinks that he must hate her. She has gone too far. Believed too hard.

Rey, he breathes. Sweetheart. He sighs the words into her head. Must you always be my undoing?

Yes, she thinks. Yes. I am. It is a call to arms, to hands. His eyes stay closed as she spreads her palms flat to his chest. She traces up, past the damp black of his robes, to the wet skin of his throat. Her fingers tangle through his hair.

He holds so perfectly still and she knows that he is waiting, that he will not move until she tells him to; a great beast made supplicant to its master's will.

She touches his lips with her fingers. She touches his brow. The long, straight line of his nose. She licks her lips, and she can feel him breathe in.

I love you, she thinks. Let me undo you.

She presses her mouth to his.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one earns its E rating, y'all. There be monsters here.

“So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair  
That ever since in love’s embraces met—  
Adam the goodliest man of men since born  
His sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve.”  
  
\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Rey is kissing him. Kylo cannot move. Her touch, her thoughts, her smell, her presence; all have rendered him immobile.

Her lips are sloppy. There is saliva. Wetness. She does not know how. He does not know either. Just her hands in his hair and her mouth, open and pressing again and again and again to his lips.

Can I? he thinks.

Yes. Yes.

He opens his mouth to hers. There is the taste of their meal. Fruit. Sweetness. There is the soft flesh of her lips. He catches the lower one between his own. He sucks. Is this okay? Keep going. He feels her tongue. Her arms come around him. She is pressed so tight, her wet body against his, her feet stretched on tiptoe.

Can I?

Yes.

His arm around her waist. One arm and he lifts her, presses her closer, tastes more of her mouth. Rey. That is the taste. He has dreamed this. He has thought about it. He has had no need but now there is only need. There is only her. Soft, pliant body molded to his. Delicate and strong. Breasts. Her nipples. He is breathing so hard. He is kissing her, messily, desperately, still hungry and there is not enough food, there is not enough her, there is not enough of them together to make him feel full.

She is kissing his face. Her mouth moves to his cheek, beneath his eye. Her tongue is drawing down the length of his scar. Please. Yes. Can I? More.

He wants her. He wants her to break him. He wants her to shatter him and tear him down and rend all the skin from his body. Let her see what is underneath.

Show me.

Can I?

Yes.

Can I touch you?

She holds him tighter. His free hand is guided down. She tells him where she wants him to go. Around her neck and down her back and to the giving mounds of flesh. He holds her there, strokes her; he digs his fingers in.

She gasps. Yes. He is hard. His length is pushing against her, caught between them, and she gasps again as her body rubs against it.

Yes.

He has been touched there. By his own hand. A perfunctory action. A necessity. The weak will of his body. There has been nothing like this.

Can I?

Touch me.

He grips more tightly on her behind. He lowers her to her feet. He kisses her forehead, down her face, down her mouth and neck and to the top of her dress. Can I? Yes. Her breasts pushing through. The fabric is clear. Her breasts are small and perfectly round. Pale pink nipples. Circles of slightly darker skin. The symbols of a target.

Yes.

He kisses her there. He feels them in his mouth. He feels the firm points of flesh. He feels her gasp. He feels her writhe. He feels a pain in his core. There is too much need now.

Please.

He rises. He spins her around. Her body against him, back to him, that soft round behind holding his hardness close, nestling it. He pushes against her. Can I?

She moans her answer. His hands slip around her throat. They move down over her shoulders, over her chest, her stomach. How he can span her waist. She is so small against him, so right, so his. He holds her there. He moves her in a rhythm that stokes the pain, that releases it. More. Hands on her hips. Over her thighs. He would like to bite the flesh there. To feel their muscle crush his head. He grips her skirts. He finds the rip he has made. Where he burned her. Where he exposed her. He tears.

Yes.

He feels her thighs now. He feels how smooth and how firm and how wanting they are. They rub together as he strokes and explores, moves higher and—

Yes.

There is a thin film of fabric. Wet and coarse with the hair underneath. Wet and warm and inviting him. He moves his fingers. Can I there? I want more. He is stroking the fabric. He is finding the folds of skin. He is finding a firmness that has her squirming.

Do you like this?

I want more.

He obliges. He ups his rhythm. He lets her thoughts and her body and the guide of the Force show him how, tell him what she needs.

Yes.

He keeps touching. There is moisture and heat. Not the rain. All her. He grinds his body against her. Do you know what you do to me?

More.

Do you know?

I want more.

Can I touch you there?

His hand slips beneath the fabric. Her smaller hands have guided it. He feels the coarse hair. He runs it through his fingers. He feels the folds of flesh. Strokes. Rubs at the wetness. Harder. More. Go further. He is there. At the entrance to a cave of secrets. Does she want this? Yes. Yes I want this. He explores.

His finger is encased by a hot sticky warmth. She is rubbing against him. He is exploring more. To the knuckle. To the hilt. Ah! She is so tight. She is so tight and he imagines what his cock would do, what it would feel like. He rubs her more.

His other hand too. He finds the spot, the one she likes. He is stroking. He is in a daze. A machine. All his life and all his training. He only wants to know how to do this.

Yes.

Do you like it?

Yes.

Do you want more?

She is keening. Something is building. Her body is vibrating. He feels a clench around his finger. He did not know it would feel like that. Magical being. She is holding him in. She is clenching around him. How would my cock feel? How would it—?

Keep going.

She is close to the edge. He wants to send her over. He wants to be taken down with her. On the cliff. In his dream. I won’t let go. We are falling. We fall together. I just want to feel this.

He does.

* * *

She doesn’t know what is happening to her. The universe is exploding behind her eyelids. Her body is singing. Her body is used and useless and there is only Ben. There is only his finger in that place, his hand on another, his body hard and strong against her, holding her up. She is screaming. She is singing. She is making no sound at all. She is going to lose all grounding, except for him. He is holding her.

Never let go.

She sags and breathes heavily. There has never been anything. Nothing ever like this. She did not know. She did not know that her body could do such things. Can only he do them? Is this the Force? How did he know?

You told me.

He is holding her so tightly. His big arms wrapped around her. She is so safe. The rain falls and hammers against the tree shell like it could shatter at any moment, but he is holding her and nothing can happen here.

Never let me go.

He is kissing her shoulder. Never. Her cheek. I am here. She can feel all of him. She can feel something pressing, something digging into the small of her back that makes him shudder, makes him still, makes him beg and plead if she moves just an inch.

What is it? she says. What can I do for you?

Rey.

She turns around. What can I do? Can I see it?

(Can I see you?)

He is looking at her. You can see me.

No. She pushes off his shirt, pulls it free and open and down over those impossibly wide and rounded shoulders. Let me see you. You are perfect. Yes. You are a creature I have never seen before.

A man, he says.

No.

(Yes.)

Nothing like you.

She is touching his chest. She is feeling the smoothness and the hardness and the strange dusting of hair. You are a beast. Yes. And a monster. Yes. I am not scared of you. She is touching him. She is kissing him there, where his heart beats loudest, where his skin darkens. He has nipples like hers but smaller, different. She covers one with her mouth.

Rey.

Here. I can taste you. She tastes more. She licks and strokes and moves her body down. He is all hard muscle. All hardness. But there is softness underneath. In his heart. In his voice. In his eyes. In the way he deals with her.

There is hardness here, though. Between his legs. His pants tent strangely. She reaches out.

Rey.

Let me touch you.

Please.

She does. He flinches. She tries to hold it in her palm. Her hand barely wraps around it and he has turned to stone. How do I do this? Be gentle. She moves, a simple stroke. His arm shoots out. He has struck the tree wall. She hears the sound of wood splinter. Am I hurting you? No. Yes. Just do it again.

She does, slowly, tentatively. Can I see you?

Yes.

She undoes the top of his pants. She undoes him. (Yes.) She removes him and she sees him now.

You are a man.

Yes.

This is different.

I know.

What does it taste like?

Rey.

What does it taste like? She is on her knees. She is hungry. She has starved for too long and his body is a feast. It could feed her in the harshest months. It could feed her forever.

I want to taste you.

I am going to—

What? She does not understand. Only knows that the skin there tastes like salt, that it feels impossibly smooth, that it feels too big to take it all inside her. It would fill her throat. Too much. But this. Just a taste.

Rey.

She sucks on the end. She draws in her cheeks. Ben is pulling her hair. He is gripping her head and he could crush her skull with his fingertips. She sucks in again.

Holy fuck.

You never curse. She keeps sucking. You never curse. He grips her tighter and guides her head up and down. You are coming. Something is coming.

Rey—

He holds too tight. She cannot breathe. There is a thick taste in her mouth. Strange fluid. She does not mind how it tastes. She swallows it down.

I am sorry.

For what?

She sits back. For what? She wipes her mouth and she looks up at him, her body hunched on the ground, dirty and dishevelled, a deranged monster looking down at her.

Rey.

Yes?

Rey. Holy fuck.

His whole body moves as he breathes, as he looks at her. Worship in his eyes. Do you ever pray? Only for this. Only for you.

She sits in the mud, her dress in ruins, the taste of Ben in her mouth.

Stand up.

I am tired.

Stand up.

I cannot move.

In the mud. Dress in ruins.

Rey.

I am tired.

(I have not had enough.)

* * *

There is no composure. No control. No thought. There had never been the thought. The reality is so much greater than the dream.

He is composed enough to tuck himself back in, to tie his pants. To draw Rey to her feet. She clings to him and presses her cheek against his chest. Her actions dirty him; she is covered in mud; she leaves her marks all over his skin.

“Rey.”

“Hmm?”

She is humming. She is kissing him again. She is wanting to undo him and destroy him and he will let her. He will let her, yes.

“Not here.”

She makes a sound. A displeased cat. An agitated animal. She is scratching at him. She is feral. He hopes no one can ever tame her. He thinks no one will ever be able.

He remembers their pack, their lightsabers together. He picks it up from the mud and slings it over his shoulder. His skin is so muddy and wet. Rey is wet too. Wet all over him. On his fingers. He tastes them.

“What are you doing?”

“I forgot.” He sucks a digit in his mouth. She takes his hand and pulls it back and puts it in her mouth too.

“Mm.”

Carnal creature. All lust. All passion. All everything he never knew he wanted.

“Come on.”

He has lost his shirt to the elements. (His gloves he lost to a clay hut.) He has lost his mind. He ducks out of the tree shell shaped like a cavern, the dark slit of an entrance, her body (he can’t stop thinking of things, of her, of how it would feel to be—)

“Carry me.”

“No.”

She jumps on his back. She wraps her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. She kisses him there. Her hands leave more scratches.

“Rey.”

“Yes?”

“Are you comfortable?”

She shifts the pack until it hangs by his hip. “I am now.”

He thinks he can feel the part of her that calls between her legs still hot against him. He can taste it. He can smell it. He trawls through mud. She clings to his back. The storm has passed now and the forest looks more alive, greener and breathing and reaching out for them. Vines crowd around him as he tries to find their path. The light has faded but not so much that he cannot see; through the canopy of trees it glows a fiery orange.

They come to a gulley they had crossed early in the day. (How long can one day be?) Though the rain has let up, the gulley is a river.

“Can you swim?”

She leans her cheek against his back. He can feel her contentment, her complete disregard for any danger. “You can swim for me.”

Yes.

He finds a long stick and tests the depth. No more than his waist. But strong currents. He will not let her drown. He wades through the water. Dead fish float past, lost to the storm; it will not move him. He makes it to the other side.

Soaked through more than ever. Caked in mud. Caked in her. Rey clings so tight and he thinks she is sleeping but she hums. He hears his name.

Nearly there.

“Can you walk?”

“Nope.” He feels her smile against his skin. A dark, wild part of him smiles back.

He climbs the hill with her on him. He crosses the plateau where they trained. He enters more forest and he knows the trail that leads back to the _Falcon_. He is an animal here. He is a creature of this place.

The ship appears amongst the foliage. An alien. Incongruous. He does not feel the draw as the gangplank is lowered. Rey slips from his back.

“What now?” she says. She walks ahead of him, to the entrance, to the mouth of his father’s dearest possession.

“What do you want?” he says.

She reaches the base of the gangplank. She climbs as far as the first step and turns to face him. “I want to do it again. With you. In the warm. With no rain.” She starts to peel off her arm wrappings. “I want you.”

He watches her. “Show me.”

“I want you here.” She touches her breasts. She peels the fabric all away. He can see them. Erect and waiting. Small and perfect. “Here,” she says, and pulls back her skirts. She tears the rip he made until the fabric parts to reveal her. Legs bare and muddied. Panties soaked through. She strokes herself. “Here.”

“Take it off.” He doesn't recognize his voice.

She does. Her dress is gone. Her underwear. She is naked before him, standing at the mouth of the _Millennium Falcon_. No tricks like the last time. No agenda except to undo him.

“Your turn.”

He drops the pack. He drops his pants. He steps out and he is naked too.

“Now,” she says.

He will not wait. He goes. He picks her up. Two hands around her waist and her body slung over one shoulder. She squeals. He touches her ass. Delicate flesh. Feels around for her wetness as he carries her inside.

“Where?”

She gasps. Squirms against his fingers. They delve deeper inside her and again he wants to lick them clean. “In the cockpit," she murmurs.

“No." He takes her to the engine room. It is dark and warm, like inside her, like inside him. He takes a blanket as he goes. He lays her down. “Here.”

“Why?”

“So I see only you.”

He kisses her. She kisses him back. They have a rhythm now. Mud and dirt and skin and hands, lips, mouths. They know how to taste, how to feed, how to give and take everything they want.

“Forever,” she says. What does she mean? “Make it last forever.”

“You are asking too much.” He sucks on her neck, her chest. Her breasts fit in his mouth, in his palms. He kisses her stomach. He kisses her there.

“Oh.”

“Can I?”

“But the other thing.”

“What?”

She is not shy. He is hard again. She holds him and shows him. “There. With this.”

“Okay.” Fuck. A stupid word. The only word. “Okay.”

She is spread before him. He guides himself down. “It will hurt,” he tells her.

“I know. I am ready.”

It is so warm. It is so tight. There is resistance and he will not push too hard. “Push harder.”

“Okay.”

She cries out. Something breaks, and he moves. “Gods.” This is perfect. “Are you hurting?”

“Not enough.” Tears in her eyes, but her body moves. “Not enough.”

She is finding a rhythm. He is too. Not enough. Somehow building. Somehow knowing the spot. He can feel it inside her, how it thrums and the Force sings a sacred song; this is her pleasure.

Sing to me, he thinks. She does. She cries out with her voice and her thoughts and her mind. Her body clenches around him and he is lost. He comes inside her with an inhuman sound.

Her legs wrap around his waist. Don't move, she thinks. Don't move.

He doesn't. He stays until his arms are trembling with the effort to spare her his full weight. He rolls them over, presses her head against his heart and wraps the blanket around them.

I will never move again.

* * *

She wakes in the engine room in the dark. There are arms around her. There is skin against her lips. She kisses it. She tastes it. She thinks it might be a dream.

That is until she feels him stir. Not just his breath but his body, that part of him that was in her mouth and inside her and she wants, she wants—

What do you want?

You. “Again,” she says. And again. And again.

They do. There is soreness but there is want and her need is a sedative to all other sensation. He goes slow and he waits for her. He makes her feel the thing where she spasms and sings. He draws it out this time. Her mouth does not close; the _Falcon_ is her echo chamber, the walls vibrate with her sound.

“Yes.” Yes. It is perfect. “Ben. Yes.” Do this forever, she thinks.

He is done not long after. “I would do it forever if I could.”

She stands. They are filthy. He stands too. She looks down, sees the mud on her skin, slick liquid between her legs, an odd smear of dried blood left upon the blanket.

“Are you hurt?” he says.

“No.” I could never be, she thinks.

They are naked. It seems normal now. It seems only natural when he takes her hand and leads her back into the forest.

They follow the trail that leads to the ruins, the place she had first found him here, the spot that he had held her. Further in and to the waterfall. He carries her through the water. He carries her when she cannot swim. They stand beneath the cascade, her giant of a man, his big hands in her hair treating her so gently, washing away all the dirt. Washing every part of her body.

She is happy. She has found her place. She has lost herself.

As long as he is with her, she thinks she does not mind.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay so first off, I'm so sorry. I did not mean to post all these chapters so quickly, but the writing has been going at light speed so here we are. Last chapter was the end of Act One of this little story; it's a typical three-act structure, so now it's time for part two. I know what you're thinking… now we got our kids all in lurve and together and its wonderful—what could possibly go wrong? Hm. Idk. I'm thinking we might get some answers on this week's episode of As the Sith Palace Turns™…
> 
> (Also, thank you to everyone for the amazing feedback on chs 11 and 12. Still blown away. <3)

 

“Now conscience wakes despair,  
That slumber’d; wakes the bitter memory  
Of what he was, what is, and what must be”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

"Our efforts in the Outer Rim and Western Reaches are stalling. Since the loss of Starkiller, Takodana and Endor are in open rebellion. The Resistance has spread their seed there and our complacency has allowed it to take root. They refuse our terms outright and ignore our threats. We must subdue them. We must send military power—"

Hux makes his case to a table of stone-faced men. They include Alec and his fellow knights as well as the top brass of the First Order. Hux tells them nothing they do not already know.

They have gathered in Palpatine's old strategy room, a windowless cavern hundreds of feet below the palace. Originally designed as a bunker strong enough to withstand all known weapons of mass destruction at the time, it has been modified in later years to endure more sinister things—namely, fluctuations in the Force.

They stare at a holoprojected map, the picture distorted and grainy due to the older technology. Even the air down here is different, recycled with strong amounts of nitra that allow poisonous gases to be detected. The flames in the great hearth glow a sickly green as a result. They cast eerie shadows on Hux's face as he talks.

"There can be no more delay. We are only just beginning to control the systems ordered by the Supreme Leader—" he clears his throat "—the former Supreme Leader. The Mid Rim and Core planets are compliant only because there has been no one to oppose us. We cannot let that happen now. Any attempt to capitulate will be seen as a sign of weakness. The fleet will not stand for it."

Alec's voice is soft but clear: "And just what does the fleet desire other than to do its Emperor's bidding?"

"What is the Emperor's bidding?" Hux snaps. "There has been no word from him in two days. There is no time. This must be decided now."

"We will wait for him."

Hux's expression grows pitying, mocking. "And you, his trusted Confessor, do you know where he is? Has he told you?" He makes a fist and points to an empty chair where their leader should reside. "The Emperor has left us. He's off playing house, breaking in his Jedi whor—"

Alec crushes the man's windpipe almost to the point of disintegration. Pular places a hand on his arm and Alec lets go. The General clutches the table edge as he hungrily sucks down air.

There is a heavy thud. Malaak’s club-saber is aimed at where Hux now sits. "I would weigh your words more carefully… General." He spits out the title as if it were a disease.

The color returns to Hux's face. He takes several more breaths. "I… apologize." The words look as if they choke him far worse than Alec's efforts. He takes a moment to regain his composure. His voice becomes gentler. "But you all saw what happened. The Emperor is distracted. He is attending to other matters. It is we who must act."

A long silence fills the room. Hux is not wrong, and they know it. Everyone looks to Alec.

"The Emperor has declared diplomacy to be our path for now. We will follow it until his orders are otherwise." Alec and the other knights stand as one. "Thank you, General. Your counsel is noted."

They wait for Hux and the other officers to leave. The door closes in a vacuum. The knights stay standing.

"We should strike," Vadanav says.

"If we don't we'll lose the fleet,” Ersn adds. “If they turn—"

"We can't subdue the galaxy all by ourselves." It is Malaak who finishes the thought. "And the Resistance are still out there. We can't just leave them to cause trouble wherever they go."

Alec keeps silent because he knows Malaak is right. They are all right.

"Where is the Emperor?" Pular asks the question that hangs over them. In the depths of his mind, Alec asks another:

Where is _she_?

* * *

His days following the Emperor’s departure are pleasant ones. She is easy company. No, not easy. She is loud and inquisitive and will not be fobbed off by any of his diversionary tactics or charm. She wants to know everything. To see everything. She wants his eye and his ear and his arm as he guides her through the role of running an empire.

In the evenings, they eat together, and he lets her look over reports. She does not ask him if he has heard from ‘Ben’. He would lie to her anyway. He is the holder of all the Emperor’s secrets. And perhaps she is his dearest one.

The knowledge she seeks most of all resides in Palpatine’s library. She thinks she can find answers here, to understand why the Force has united her and Kylo. Alec leads her down and accepts her request that he leaves until sunrise. He sometimes spies. He hears her talk. He does not know who she talks to.

A routine is soon established. He is used to her presence. He looks forward to it. He invites her on the fifth day to join him and the other knights to train. She tells him she would prefer to watch. He teases her that she is afraid she might not win. He does not expect her to show up after she storms off in anger. But she does. She is not dressed to train. She is dressed to seduce all of them to ruin.

Other than the flimsy silk slip she wore on their first proper introduction (not that he hasn’t thought about it; he has thought too many things), he has only seen her in various iterations of a Jedi’s wardrobe. Now she wears a dress, black as a Sith Lord, iridescent as a goddess. It is cut to reveal too much of her skin. Alec is not complaining, but he does not understand.

The other knights are distracted too. They argue over which forms to focus on, over who will spar against whom. Rey watches from a corner, stretched out on a bench with one pale leg bent and wholly visible. Alec removes his shirt.

He wants to know if she is watching him. If she is watching all of them. They all strip to the waist, and Ersn and Pular spar first. Alec goes to sit beside her.

“My Lady.”

Her eyes start at his face, but he sees their journey down his torso.

“Are you truly only here to watch?” he says.

She leans back on both arms and straightens the pale bare leg out. “I’m hardly dressed for a fight.”

“That would depend on the nature of the dispute.”

She blushes. She is still learning how to flirt. Alec would be more than obliged to educate her in great detail.

Instead, he is challenged by Malaak. All the knights seem determined to impress their audience of one. Alec wants to know what the Emperor has done to leave her so unsatisfied.

He and Malaak spar. They fight viciously. They are only using training sabers, but they land blows that leave bruises, that split skin, that crack one of Malaak’s ribs. Alec feels a surge of energy, of inspiration. The Force speaks to him and tells him how to take his opponent out.

He does. Malaak yields. The tattooed beast is enraged and launches a bench against a wall. It takes the other three knights to hold him back.

Alec does not see Rey after they train. She knows her way to the library now. She does not desire his assistance.

He showers and jerks himself off to her image in the Dark side dress. Seductress, he thinks. I know your power. We are the same; let me help you.

He is eating alone in his rooms when a message arrives from the Emperor.

“She is in my chambers. Subdue her.”

“What?”

“She just tried to take her own life. She is under the influence of—” Here the connection cuts out. “Sedate her if required.” The Emperor’s voice is desperate. Alec can hear him flicking switches and readying his ship’s engine. “I am on my way. Please.”

“My Lord?”

“Please don’t let her be harmed.”

Alec enters the Emperor’s chambers to find the doors to the balcony wide open. There is a strong breeze from outside, and the drapes flow inwards like billowing capes. He steps onto the balcony. Rey sits on the floor close to its edge, still in the same dress as before.

“My Lady?”

“Ben.” She is crying. “Ben, I need you. Ben!”

It is not the wind making the drapes flow, Alec realizes. The Force is a maelstrom around them. He approaches slowly. He senses the other knights enter the rooms; he had summoned them and a med droid too. They make it as far as the balcony doors, but they cannot go any further.

“What is the nature of this?” Pular says. He senses the Force better than most, and right now it is crying; it is screaming in distress.

The other knights are blocked from entering, and Alec feels himself lifted from the ground.

“Ben!” Rey stands. The dress swirls about her legs. “Help me! Why won’t you help me?”

She turns towards him. “Are you here to torture me too?”

“My Lady.” Alec feels the Force constrict around him. “He is on his way. He only wished for me to—”

“Where is he? He was here and now he’s gone! Why did he leave me?”

Alec reaches out to Ersn. _Tell Pular to try everything he’s got._

Pular does. His gift allows him to suppress the Force in others, and Alec hopes it is enough to diminish the chaotic power emanating from Rey. But the girl barely falters. There is a crash as the boy is sent flying across the room. The windows on the balcony doors all shatter.

Alec sees there is only one option left.

“Rey.” He draws her attention solely on him. “He’s coming back. Do you understand? Ben is on his way. He’s coming. He hasn’t left you.”

The grip of the Force around him loosens. Alec hits the ground.

“Rey.” She throws him across the floor and through shards of broken glass. “It’s okay.” He hits the remnants of a door. “He’s coming back.”

She stares down at him as he lies upon the ground. Tears stain her face. Blood is in his eyes. She has never looked more beautiful.

“Do you mean it? Don’t lie. Do you mean it?”

“I’d never lie to you. Just come inside. Wait for him and—”

“Ah!”

Finally. The med droid has found it’s target. The needle enters her calf, and she staggers.

“What did you do?”

“Followed my orders.” He drags himself to his feet and walks towards her. “My Lady,” he says. She falls into his arms. “It is the Emperor’s will.”

Alec carries Rey inside, where the other knights are waiting. They are all staring at the unconscious woman, their faces unmasked and visibly stunned.

“What is the nature of this power?” Pular says, rubbing his head.

“I do not know.” Alec lays Rey on the bed. Sedated. Broken and beautiful. “Let’s hope our master has the answers.”

Kylo doesn’t.

He bursts into his rooms where the knights all stand vigil around his bed. Around Rey.

“Is she okay?” He is at her side, his hand cupping her face. Alec and the others have never seen him like this; his eyes are haunted and his voice softly trembles. “What have you given her?”

“She will sleep for several more hours,” Alec says.

“Then there is no time to waste.”

He carefully lifts her into his arms. Still in her sinful dress. Still in his nervous state. It seems that the two of them are equally exposed.

Alec and the other knights follow as the Emperor walks through the palace with the Jedi’s limp form. His arrival has already drawn much attention and now it’s as if everybody in the compound has come out to watch the shocking spectacle.

Kylo pays them no mind. He strides with urgency. With love, Alec thinks.

What are you thinking?

When they make it to the courtyard, military officials are gathered. Hux stands amongst them. He looks on and says nothing, but Alec detects twitches of horror in his face as the Emperor boards none other than the _Millennium Falcon_.

“When will you return, my Lord?” Alec asks.

Kylo stands at the base of the boarding ramp, Rey now safely stowed away inside. He waits as palace staff load packs of clothes and food for his journey. His eyes are aimed somewhere else, to someone he cannot see.

“Once she is recovered.”

Kylo boards, and Alec sees no point in asking where it is he is going.

But Hux wants to know. The next forty-eight hours are a barrage of questions, of accusations, of barely veiled insults. Alec is in charge and ignores all the General’s complaints. He abides by his Emperor’s wishes. He thinks regularly of Rey.

You took her. You did this. You brought her here and it nearly killed her. What was the point? You cannot contain her power. Do you understand the damage you are doing? Do you think I am willing to always clean up your mess?

Alec abides by his Emperor’s wishes for as long as he can. But then Hux arrives with the news.

In an empire with no emperor, the people are rebelling.

* * *

It is late when he leaves his rooms. The palace is quiet. Hux and his dogs have retired to the military annex; the courtiers are scarce since there is no royalty around to impress. Alec wanders the halls. He stops at the door to the Emperor's chambers, checks inside and can still see the imprint of her body left atop the sheet. He stops by the door to her rooms and waits outside. There are no guards there now, for she in not in residence. He imagines knocking and the door sliding back, wondering what she will be wearing, if she will greet him with a frown or a smile.

He goes down to the library. It is silent. He ends his tour in the banquet hall of the Knights.

He does not bother to light any candles; the light of the fireplaces is enough. He fetches two bottles of Corellian whiskey from the cellar and proceeds to finish the first one by himself. As he opens the second, there is a soft step in the hall. Alec knows who it is.

"Have a drink, Pular." He slides the bottle that isn't empty across the table.

Pular appears without further sound. His eyes are shaped like a cat's, and Alec sometimes wonders if they can glow in the dark like a cat's too; he already knows that the boy can survive almost any fall and land on his feet. He watches Alec with his cat-shaped eyes as he finds a glass and pours.

They drink in silence for some time. Alec knows that the other knight is just waiting, that he has something important to say and will say it precisely when he's ready.

"Do you regret following him?" Pular finally asks.

Alec takes a sip, savors the burn of the alcohol. "No."

"It's just sometimes his loyalty…"

"Can you blame him?" We are what we are, Alec thinks. Alec is the son of a root farmer, just as Pular is an orphan abandoned to the harshness of a frozen mining colony. Unremarkable and unwanted, respectively, the only thing special about them being the extraordinary powers they possessed. But Ben was different. He had been saddled from birth with a legacy that was always destined to split his loyalties.

"Yes, but." Pular considers his words carefully. "His anger. You have far more reason to hate Skywalker than he ever did."

There are some things that are not spoken of, even after all these years. Alec's look tells the younger man that he’s in no mood to change that tonight.

Pular redirects. "Have you tried to contact him?"

"Twice." Alec takes another drink. "There's been no answer."

"Do you think something has happened?"

If Kylo had come to harm, Alec would have felt it in the Force. Instead, it has been quiet. The only things he's sensed are peace and contentment. Bastard, he thinks. There isn't enough alcohol in the palace for this.

"Not in the way you think," is all he answers.

Pular pushes his drink away. "You should try again. Hux will not wait. If he does not get an answer soon, he may not ask for permission next time." He stands. "We are balanced on the edge of a knife."

Alec stares through the half-empty bottle. He watches the fire until it burns down to embers. He goes back to his rooms. He opens up the holoprojector. Types in the code for the _Falcon_. He waits. An image flickers to life.

"Alec?"

He sobers in an instant. " _Rey?_ "

It is her face; it is her voice. She looks raw and haunted. There are tears on her cheeks. Alec is on his feet.

"What has he done?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay. So this is technically the start of Act 2. I am sorry it took so long. This one was being fussy. Lots of storylines to get in motion here. Thanks to everyone for your patience and for being amazing and for all the epic feedback on the past few chapters. Y'all have kept me going. And for those keeping score at home, yep, this chapter is designed to mirror ch1 in theme and structure—and most importantly, this chapter was basically made possible by Chapter 27 of Jane Eyre (*respect*).
> 
> Also, also, extreme shoutouts to the commenters who coined only the most epic nicknames for our boy Alec. Henceforth he shall be known as Evil Dreamboat (courtesy of Andromache37), Dreamy Dark Lancelot (courtesy of HouseBruh) and/or Little Evil Dark Chocolate (courtesy of Leah).

“Our state cannot be severed, we are one,  
One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Breakfast is a messy affair. The kitchen in the crew quarters is tiny, and they end up stepping over each other trying to find bowls and plates and taking out food from the cooling shelves. Rey discovers a carton of honey-fowl eggs and demands a proper fry up. Ben obliges, and soon the small space is brimming with the aroma of omelet and mushrooms and Salba pork. He slices bread for toasting and she volunteers to make the caf.

Extra strong. No sugar. She has discovered she likes it best intense and unadorned.

Duly noted.

A large arm encircles her waist and Ben nuzzles her throat, interrupting her efforts; the entire operation is abandoned completely when he hauls her up onto the counter, the better to kiss her. She feels a memory surge between them, of another happy couple and him watching as a small child. His parents. This kitchen was a wedding gift from his father to his mother. She reads this in his memories, and he lets her. There is no anger in his thoughts.

Would you build me a kitchen?

The tiniest.

I'd rather have a training center. A meditation chamber. A workbench for all my scrap parts.

I'll build you anything you want.

They have put on clothes now. She has stolen his tunic, though she leaves it unbelted. It hangs down past her knees, and she wears nothing underneath. Ben is shirtless, and she considers making it a rule. He is not self-conscious but has no opinion of his body, has only ever seen it as a tool. You are beautiful, she tells him. Do you know how much? Do you know how long I have wanted you?

Show me. She does. The eggs are cold by the time they make it to the table.

She eats half her body weight. She's been starving for so long she can never be full—of him, of everything. There is so much to experience, and she's hungry for it all. She's in his lap and finishing off what is left on his plate. She sucks the remnants of more muja fruit from his fingertips. His other hand caresses her belly.

His movements pause. He's contemplating something. "Rey." Stretched wide and still, his palm spans her stomach.

“What?”

“Do you…?” She is unused to him sounding so uncertain.

She tilts her head back to look up at him. “What is it?”

“You use no method of birth control,” he says.

“No. Why would I—?” Her eyes widen. “Oh.”

His hand stays on her stomach. It presses down slightly on the swell from her breakfast. Firm and reassuring. Keeping her to him.

“There is a chance. I am sorry. I should have—"

She has never thought about it. How can she think about it now? They are perfect together, but another life? She is nineteen years old (or so she thinks by her wall of marks). She is at the beginning of something. She barely knows herself. She wants to know who she is. To control the Force and understand her power. To spend her days in Ben’s arms and only with him.

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

“I’m not ready.”

He is not upset. He is not anything. “But one day?”

“Maybe.”

He is ready right now. She can feel it. In the way he kisses her shoulder. In the way his hand won’t leave her, how it gropes her ripe flesh with possessive need and wonder.

“Whatever day it is,” his breath ghosts across the back of her neck; she leans all she has into him, “I will be with you. You will not want for anything. I will—”

Rey closes her eyes and sees the future he paints for them both.

Children. A whole houseful. A boy with black eyes and his mother's freckles. A future Emperor? His father doesn't care. I only want this. She is heavy with child. A second. A third. I would never leave you. I would give up everything—

The light changes. The image is torn asunder like paper. A wave of red washes over her. It is dark and cold.

A voice calls her name.

There are no children. There is no Ben. Her skin is not right. A yellow tinge to her vision. And pain, unimaginable. She screams as it rends her insides, but she cannot fix this. She cannot fix anything. She's falling into darkness and there is no coming back.

An eternity lost to the abyss.

Like before, her world is pivoting, shifting. She lands on a battlefield. War upon endless war. A Dark empire forged in bloodshed. She is locked inside a chamber with a collar around her neck. Armies march at her command. Her beautiful gift abused and debased. Entire planets burning. She sees the Resistance, her friends, suffering, dying. She sees Leia's lifeless body. Finn screaming. Their blood on her hands.

Ben! She cannot find him. He has left her. A broken promise. Shattered vows. And a voice in her head telling her: This is your true nature.

This is who you are.

She returns to the _Falcon_. Her body slumps in his arms. He holds her but he is staring beyond. He is breathing so hard that she moves with the rhythm.

She sees him now. Sees the terror in his eyes.

He knows. He saw it too.

“No.” She stumbles from his lap, out of his reach, her side colliding with the table. She stumbles from the room. He calls for her. He is calling.

“Rey—”

No, she thinks. No.

He is coming. He follows just like in the woods on Takodana. He does not run, only stalks. The hunter and his prey. She does not want him to follow. She wants space. She wants escape. She wants to fall into a dream and wake up on her AT-AT.

“Rey!”

His voice is too loud. It echoes through the ship. Why are you angry? she thinks. What have I done to deserve this?

She crawls into the bunk and he corners her there. She is hiding beneath a blanket, the one from her hut on Ahch-To, she knows. It smells of the ocean. It smells of him.

“You cannot hide from this.”

She does not want to see him.

“But that does not mean that you must accept it.” She senses as he leans over her. “I don’t,” he says.

She sits up and he pulls back. “How can you say that? We have no control—”

“You and I are stronger than anything. We can overcome—”

“How? We only fight. We disagree. We managed to break a lightsaber in half. Maybe we’ll break a whole galaxy.”

“Then why are we fighting? Do you see what we can do when we are one?” He snatches the blanket away and studies her nakedness, her body framed by his shirt. “Our fall only comes if we are not together.” He reaches out to touch her.

“You wish to control me,” she says; his hand withdraws. “I didn’t mean… it just seems that if we stay on this path, then we are doomed. I am lost.”

“I would not allow it.”

“How? You cannot control everything. Are you so foolishly arrogant? Wasn’t that Snoke’s undoing? You cannot control the will of the Force!”

“But of course the Jedi cowers.” He bares his teeth as he spits the words. “Always a slave to such meaningless vagaries.”

“I saw my friends dying! Everything I care about dying—”

“There was not only death.” He sees their imagined family. What vagaries do you cling to now? she thinks.

“It is not enough. We are not enough. Not when there is so much at stake.”

“You are the most powerful being I have ever encountered in the Force. With my knowledge—”

“You still think you can protect us from this? You struggle to protect me even from a ghost.”

She has burned him. “You are an ignorant child!” He burns her too. “It was the Force that let me drag you from the brink of death. You deny its true power, yet you would flee before a nightmare—”

“It was real! Do you know how I know? Because the last nightmare I had, I saw you chasing after me. I could not escape you in that dream and look where I find myself now.”

“You want to escape this?”

“I cannot ignore what I saw. We cannot be together.”

“Rey—”

“I know you saw what I did!”

“All I see is you.” He kneels on the floor by the bunk, but it does not diminish how he dwarfs her. He takes hold of her hands. “Do you forget my promise? I will destroy Plagueis. I will kill anything that comes to harm you. Do not let this come between us.”

“It has already.”

“No!” He struggles to maintain his composure. His hands are manacles about her wrists. “Do you not understand? I would protect you with my life. You will never come to harm so long as I draw breath. Do not fear the shadows. I have darkness enough—”

“You were not there.” Her tears fall. He does not catch them, only watches. “In the vision you were gone. What if you die? What if you leave me?”

“I cannot leave you.” He bows his head and presses his face to her stomach. “I will not.” He kisses her navel, moving lower; his hands stroke along her hips and her thighs. “Whatever happens—”

“Stop making promises that you cannot keep.”

“Tell me how I have failed you!” He pins her down. His body crowds low over hers. She can feel his words hot and harsh against her face. “You give me no chance. You run away at the first sign of danger. You act as if I have made all the fateful choices.”

“Let me go!”

“I do not know how!”

Rey lies stunned. How she wants to turn away. But his mouth finds hers and the taste is so familiar, she is lost again. She is kissing him back. Her arms around his neck. Her body held against his. He is pressing tender kisses to her forehead, her cheek, her jaw.

“Do not leave me.”

No.

“Please.”

No.

“Rey—”

The smell of smoke. The taste of blood. The screams of her friends. All that she is risking to stay here in his embrace.

“No!”

She pushes him away with the Force, and he lands on the other side of the room.

“I cannot lose myself,” she says.

Rey picks up the blanket and she runs. This time at least, he does not follow.

* * *

Kylo only stares. His hands are empty. The room is empty. There is a pounding at his ribs, not his heart but wild fists, a dreaded monster inside him fighting to get out.

No. I have lost myself.

He is a fool. The Force has made him to be. Snoke. Luke. External powers that would use him. He has fought for control, but the fight has been futile.

All it took was a nobody girl from a nobody world to undo him.

He hates her. He wants to hate her so much. Hate is easy. Hate is comfort. Hate is the food that has sustained him for so long.

This is futile as well.

He picks himself up. He returns to the galley and the remnants of their breakfast. Dirty plates and cold caf. It is all that is left.

The beast inside him roars. Sentimental boy. Inside your parents’ kitchen. Did you not learn their lesson? How could you not foresee any other outcome than this?

A fist pounds the tabletop. Plates rattle, and he sweeps them away. He lifts the table with bare hands—he does not need any more than the power of his body—wrenches bolts from the floor and warps metal panels. He tosses it all and destroys the gift that his father had once made.

Father. Stupid boy. You think you could be any better? How could you raise a child? You cannot even take care of her. See how she fears you now, sees her ruin in your face. Death. Destruction. You hold them all inside you. You eat up everything.

I am still hungry, he thinks.

He stalks through the corridors. She has blocked him, but he can feel her. However hard she tries, he feels the pulse of her being. He is a part of her now.

In the cockpit. Of course. He does not like to sit there. As soon as the controls are set to autopilot, he would remove himself to another corner. But he will not avoid her. He hears her crying. He hears her voice say a name. It is not his.

“Alec?”

“Rey?” The voice of his Confessor. Longing and panic and want in a lonely syllable. He knows the sounds. He lives and breathes them. “What did he do?”

“It’s not his fault. It’s—”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m—” Kylo lets her see him now. Can I not dry your tears? Or do you see the monster? That look in the forest. Ah, yes. Yes you do.

I am so hungry. “Leave,” he says. Leave before I devour you.

She stares at him sadly, and he knows this look too. _Ben, don’t do this_.

It is too late.

She flees with a blanket wrapped around her. She keeps her body from his sight. She keeps her thoughts from his mind.

No matter. I have seen everything. I have heard every word. I have felt what is inside you.

“My Lord,” Alec says.

He sits in the pilot’s seat, his father’s throne. He is shirtless still. Exposed yet an empty shell. There is nothing else of him left to see.

“Brother,” Kylo says. His voice is a weapon; each word a sharpened blade. “Tell me what it is that I have done.”

Alec holds his gaze. The holovid flickers. I can see through you, Kylo thinks.

“My only intention had been to convey a message to our Emperor.”

“And here I am. Do not be shy.”

“My Lord,” Alec says, “you are needed.” I am unwanted here. “The Empire requires your return.”

* * *

He ends the call and sets the coordinates. He goes through all the preflight checks and takes off, guiding the ship up through the atmosphere and into the blackness of space. All that darkness made imperfect by tiny pinpricks of light. You cannot escape it. He activates hyperdrive and the light coalesces into one.

She is not in the quarters. He does not seek her out. He goes to the refresher and strips, cleanses himself. Dons the uniform he has neglected for too long.

With his cape in place, he goes down to the auxiliary hold. She sits on a crate, hands and ankles crossed. Dressed in gray. A gray dress. It covers her from neck to wrist and down to the floor. Her hair is up. Her face is composed. She looks like an empress, he thinks. The thought is a betrayal.

“We must go back to Coruscant,” he says. “I have neglected my duties for too long.”

She looks up at him and waits. His gloved hands are tightened like grenades.

“I must apologize for my behavior before.”

“If you must, then I must too,” she says.

“That is not necessary.”

He turns to go.

“Ben, wait.”

She still calls him Ben. It should not feel like a victory.

“I want you to know I do not plan to break the terms of our agreement. I will stay at the palace. I will stay out of your way.”

“You do not have to do that. You are not my prisoner, Rey.” He stands before her; her eyes rise up to meet his at her name. “I will not break my promises to you. Not a single one. Understand that, even if there can be nothing else.”

“I do.”

“My only request is that you do not return to the library, not until I know that it is safe.”

“As you wish.”

He holds out his hand and she takes it. They will not rule together. They will live side by side but apart.

“My Lady.”

Kylo raises her gloved hand to his lips and seals their fates.

* * *

The _Millennium Falcon_ lands on the palace grounds in the middle of the day under a bright, hot star.

Alec and the other knights wait to greet it. Hux shows up with his own contingent. They all wait in soundless anticipation. Nobody knows what to expect, the Emperor’s Confessor included.

The man who left them was not recognizable. The man who descends the boarding ramp is poised and unnervingly familiar. He approaches them alone.

“My Lord,” Alec says.

“Welcome back, Supreme Leader.” Hux attempts a smile, but it is clear he is unsettled by the Emperor’s renewed composure. “Your timing is auspicious. There is much to discuss.”

“I have studied your reports.” Kylo does not spare Hux a glance. “I must convene with the Knights of Ren. Tell the fleet to expect my orders in three hours.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Hux says with a reluctant bow. Contempt causes ripples to his countenance; a treacherous eyebrow twitches.

Kylo ignores him. He only looks amongst his men as the General and other officers retreat.

“It is time to win this war,” he says. “To take what is ours.”

“What of the Jedi?” It is Vadanav who so casually speaks. Alec thinks he is indifferent to the point of a death wish.

That wish almost comes.

It is as if all the air is sucked out from the very atmosphere. Like the vacuum of space. Vadanav’s eyes bulge from his normally stoic face. Alec struggles to stand, as do the other men around him.

The Force is a clenched fist like Kylo’s gloved hand. Nothing can penetrate it and it will let nothing out. Did he apply the same kind of torment to her?

Alec sees his answer in the slight figure who emerges from inside the Falcon. She wears a formal dress and fur-lined cape, incongruous to the weather. Her hair is pinned up in a severe fashion. Her face is cold.

She is a queen, Alec thinks. He watches her descend. Her whole being seems to float, the skirt of her dress skimming like a breeze over the ground. She walks towards the knights at they all strive to catch their breath; she walks past them. She does not acknowledge them. She does not acknowledge Kylo and Kylo does not acknowledge her.

The tension in the Force relaxes as soon as she is gone. Kylo unclenches his hand.

“Follow me,” he says.

“My Lord.” Ersn stays two steps behind the Emperor. “Where are we going to?” Alec thinks that Ersn must know already, that he has sensed somewhere unexpected in their master’s intent.

“Why don’t you share with the rest?”

Ersn’s dark face goes ashen.

“What is it?” Pular says.

“The throne room,” Ersn’s says, and everyone understands his pallor now.

The throne room lies in the heart of the palace. A square room suspended in the center of a courtyard, its design allows the impression that the room simply floats. But architects ensured a single connection to the main building. Only one way in and one way out.

Its purpose is not ceremonial. Palpatine did not rule from inside but cast judgment, made lasting decisions, tried and decided the fates of those who he deemed to be disloyal. No one was safe within its walls, unless they could be trusted.

The knights follow Kylo and Alec is reminded of another similar day. Walking out from the ruins of Skywalker’s Jedi temple. Ben Solo in singed nightclothes and with madness in his eyes pledging to lead them to greater things. Demanding their loyalty. Holding the dancing tip of his saber to each of their throats.

Brothers, they pledged. They swore on their blood. They followed him into a deep and welcoming darkness.

Now they enter a room that is bathed in light. The throne room is made of crystal. A mineral not the same but still related to the kyber stone that is built into a saber. The floor and walls are a smooth polished glass. There are no windows but the light glows from inside the stone. A manifestation of the Force. A reflection of the person who enters. A reading of any other’s intent.

Kylo leads and the path shimmers with darkness. He ascends the steps that lead to the great throne. The only object in the room, it is a towering structure. Jagged crystals form the arms and back. It was cut out unaltered from the core of a dying volcano. Only the steps and the seat have been carved. It is where Kylo sits now.

He sits and the crystals drain of light. Blackness seeps into their marrow like poisoned blood. The throne becomes black and Kylo sits and in his wake there is a trail of black too, like a rolled out carpet. A path of darkness leading to him. His knights all stand upon it.

“Let us speak freely,” Kylo says. “You have found me wanting.”

No one responds. Malaak shuffles. The floor around his feet flickers yellow and Kylo smiles.

“Kneel,” he says to Malaak. Malaak does. The floor is red. Kylo is pleased. “You may rise, my knight.”

“My Lord,” Malaak says.

“Tell me your doubts and do not lie.” Kylo looks to them all. “I do not lie here either.”

Pular steps forward. “My Lord, your diplomacy has failed. We must act now before the disease of rebellion spreads. Before the fleet decides to act on its own.”

“Agreed. Kneel.” Pular does. The ground is red with flecks of green and purple. “You covet something,” Kylo says.

“Only victory, my Lord.”

“Over something or someone?”

Alec thinks it is the only time that he has seen Pular blush.

“You may rise. Your honesty is welcomed.”

Pular does. The process is repeated with Ersn and Vadanav. The nature of their relationship is confirmed. Kylo is unmoved. His only interest is in how it may sway their loyalty.

“I wish to see the galaxy united under the Dark side,” Ersn says. “There has been no peace with the Light. Only lies and hypocrisy.” The crystals are a bloody red. Lust and power and loyalty.

“And what of you?”

Vadanav shrugs. “You know why I joined. I was born a slave and your uncle sought to convert me to another form of servitude. I have no interest in much. Just to live as I please. Kill as I want. Fuck who I fancy. You have my sword as long as I have no impediment from you.”

Kylo smiles. “You may both rise.”

Alec awaits his turn, but other matters are discussed. The Emperor’s first order is to quell the rebellions on Endor and Takodana. The knights voice their agreement. The crystals are red and black as the Sith, the scene reminiscent of Snoke’s former throne room. At another time, Alec would have enjoyed the sight.

“My Lord?” Malaak steps forward, loyalist knight and biggest fool, Alec thinks. “Forgive me my outspokenness, but how does the Jedi fit into all these plans?”

The room is plunged into blackness again, not just the crystal floor and walls and throne. No one can see. Only Kylo’s voice can be heard.

“She does not.” The darkness lifts. “Do you have any other concerns?”

Malaak shakes his head. The other knights look away.

“You are dismissed,” Kylo says, “but the Confessor stays.”

The other knights leave, giving Alec second glances as they do. Even Malaak looks at him briefly with concern.

Alec is locked in the cage. Kylo rises from the throne. The crystals glow green in the blackness.

“It is your turn to confess now.”

Alec stands tall. “My Lord.”

“You call me brother.”

“Yes.”

“I am an only child so please enlighten me. Do brothers share?”

“It is encouraged when there is not enough to go around.”

Kylo’s hands crackle with lightning. Black lightning like the crystals now. Alec has never seen this power.

“I will not strike you down.”

“But you want to.”

“I owe you a lot. You have been loyal. You have carried my burden when I became too distracted.”

“You are not distracted now?”

Kylo steps forward and the crystals crack and splinter beneath his feet. “She is not yours.”

“But she is yours?”

“She does not belong to you!”

Alec falls down to one knee; the Force around Kylo is uncontrolled.

“But what if she chooses me, brother?” Blood drips from Alec’s nose. He smiles. The crystals shimmer green and red and blue.

Kylo grips Alec by the hair and tilts his head back. The static of electricity vibrates along Alec’s skin.

“You forget yourself,” Kylo says.

“So do you.”

The floor beneath Kylo is not black. It is silver-gray. Kylo lets Alec go. He moves to the door and says, “She is no longer your concern. That is my only warning.” Then Kylo is gone from the room and all is light once more.

* * *

Alec enters his chambers. There is another there. It is late. He has been drinking. He is ready for a fight.

“You have picked a bad time. I will run you through where you stand.”

He sees her emerge from the shadows. A queen in a gray dress. Her hair is less severe. Her eyes have been crying.

“Rey?”

She comes to him as if it were a dream. A queen but still a child. He does not see the woman. He only opens his arms as she throws herself into them. Holds her close and lets her cry. Comforts the one that took a cursed dagger and plunged it into his heart.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I threw some tough stuff at everyone last chapter, what with all the Jane Eyre realness and the Love Triangle of Doom™, and I know it wasn't the happy Reylo we've come to know and love, but I just want to give everyone a big thank-you for all of the feedback and comments and encouragement, even when it's not your particular jam. It means so much and I'm so thankful to have such amazing people reading this fic. And yes, angst does have its own tag now, but please know that I want so much to do right by every single character and write them in a way that feels true and authentic, and to take them on journeys that allow them to transform (and in the process write the best darn shippy story I can—eep!)
> 
> And now for this chapter we're going to slow things down a bit and focus on our girl Rey. And you know how I like to do that thing where I take the same event and tell it from different points of view? I might have done that for the next three chapters. O_o Stay tuned.
> 
> Anyways tl;dr FOR REAL but thank you for everything and happy Friday! <333

“So shall the world go on,  
To good malignant, to bad men benign,  
Under her own weight groaning.”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

She feels better in the morning. Which is not to say she feels well or remotely okay; her heart lies in splinters and there is no hope of repair. How do you fix something you don't understand? Rey has never used her heart in this way, never knew such feelings were possible.

She misses him. The word is too tame; this is the loss of a limb, an amputation from her body, a terminal condition that might have the power to finish her off. She cannot dwell on it for long.

She shrugs out of her cape. She lies on the large green sofa in the receiving room of Alec's chambers. The fire in the hearth has been well stoked, and she has grown too warm. She does not remember falling asleep, only remembers that she could not face going back to her old rooms. She could not stare at the marks on the walls and the desperate hope that Ben might come to her. (She is half afraid that he would.) Her retreat to this space was as much to hide as anything else. And to seek comfort. She had cried on Alec's shoulder, until there were no tears left. (How could there still be any?) He held her and, for once, did not say a word. She felt his sorrow as a reflection of her own, and it only made the pain more acute. But at least she was not alone. The vision of the empty void still laps at her. She thinks she never wants to be alone again.

"Alec?"

There is no answer. She rises and tiptoes across the carpet to the double doors of his bedchamber. They are shut. She knocks lightly. There is no response. Breath held, she inches a door open. The room is empty. There is a large carved bed in the center, covered in an emerald tapestry, but it is undisturbed. No one has slept here.

He must have risen early, she thinks. She tells herself that she does not mind, that it is no concern of hers. The light outside the windows is bright and clear, and she knows she has missed the morning already. He was kind not to wake her.

She gathers her cape and wraps it about her. The cold season on Coruscant has passed, but still she feels it. She feels numb, in point of fact, but a hidden part of her knows that this is going to be a permanent state. Before leaving, she wraps the Force around her as well, partially as a barrier against any harmful voices (thank you for that, Ben, she prays, though she knows he cannot hear her) and more practically, because she wishes to avoid being seen. She walks along the palace halls as a shadow, and no one pays her any mind. She falls into a step behind a gaggle of brightly dressed ladies. Courtiers' wives and mistresses, she has only seen them from afar. She listens to their conversation.

There is much excitement in the palace today. Hux and the fleet have been deployed to a distant system. There is trouble and it must be quashed, though the ladies have no concern about where or why. The Knights are gone too. All of them, and the ladies mourn this loss severely, especially the tall, blond one. Rey frowns. But apparently they were needed back in their territories and the will of the Emperor is not to be trifled with.

At mention of the Emperor, the conversation flutters like a thousand nervous butterflies. She feels their fear of him, but also their fascination. She feels more than one wave of ill-concealed lust. They speculate on whether he is truly part-demon, on whether he would ever seek out a mistress or a concubine—and a young beauty with flaming red hair declares that she would gladly volunteer for the job. Rey is glowering, and an unfamiliar beast roars to life within. So overtaken is she by this unwelcome feeling that when the redheaded beauty suddenly complains of a sharp headache it takes her a moment to realize that she is the cause. Rey feels ashamed and pulls her emotions back. The redhead recovers.

"At least he is done with that Jedi creature now," the woman says, and the other ladies all agree. Rey feels their contempt, their utter disregard for her; she is less than dirt in their eyes, unworthy of the Emperor and unworthy to be part of his court. Their thoughts hurt her more than she can say.

She falls back, quietly wounded, and watches as they disappear from view. In their place, she finds a passing pair of First Order officers. Mid-level from the looks of their uniform and demeanor, they gossip in dramatic whispers so as to feel more important. Rey has had enough eavesdropping for one day, but she does catch one very important piece of conversation: Hux's attack is focused on Takodana.

Takodana, she thinks. Maz.

Rey moves swift as a ghost with unfinished business. She knows what she must do.

* * *

She has come armed for this battle, with Luke's lightsaber and her threadbare Jedi clothes. She feels out his presence and follows the trail like a hound with a scent. She does not bother with any formalities as she enters the room, a gilded receiving hall that she has never been to before. He is seated at a desk the size of a banquet table, looking over datapads and more ancient papers while a group of clerks and courtiers look on.

His guards tense as they feel her power in the Force, until Ben calls them off with a wave of his hand. Everyone stops what they are doing. Everyone looks at her.

It is the first time she has seen him since he left her on the _Falcon_ , and the first time since their ill-fated breakfast that she has truly looked at him. Maker, but he is beautiful. Broad and dark and looking like the ruler of everything. So handsome and casually terrifying that her traitorous heart wants to smile. She quells the thought before he can sense it but suspects that she is too late. His face is impassive, but there is a curious glint in his eyes.

"My Lady?"

She quickly recovers. "You have violated the terms of our agreement."

One perfect, sardonic eyebrow lifts.

"Takodana," she continues. "It is the territory of Maz Kanata. She is an ally of the Resistance. And so long as I live with you the Resistance are not to be harmed."

He looks only at her. "Leave us," he says. His gaze does not waver as the room empties. He stares for an eternity before speaking.

"I will not harm your friends so long as they make no war against me. But I will not relinquish the right to defend what is mine." She fears these words have greater meaning, but she will give them no ear.

"If Maz is captured, she must not be harmed," she says.

He stares at her with cool, dark eyes. "Agreed."

She nods and turns to leave.

"Except—"

She stops.

"Except that by adding this request you are renegotiating the terms of our agreement. So allow me to make an additional demand." He rises, and she must make a conscious effort not to back up. He walks gracefully around the desk for one so tall, his superior breeding and birth marked in every step. She lifts her chin, seeking to fake the pride she does not feel.

"If I must suffer your friends," he speaks the word as if it leaves an unpleasant taste, "and be made to let them breathe, then I ought to get more for my efforts."

She pins him with a sharp look, and he lets the pause hang between them. He lets her remember their moment in the tree, on the _Falcon_ , the press of their bodies together. You would not sully this, she thinks.

He shields his mind from her. "You wouldn't," she says out loud.

"No. I wouldn't. But I should at least have the pleasure of your company."

You already have, she thinks. Willing or unwilling.

"Always," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"I am in need of a new confessor. My old one has been called away. And while your politics are abhorrent and your religion significantly worse, there is no doubt you are qualified for the job." He is near to her now. His voice is all softness, even though there is none present in his face. "Be my Confessor, Rey of Jakku. And every one of your seditious friends will live, no matter how many arrows they hurl at me. Do you accept?"

He does not hold out his hand this time. She might cry if he did. How can I refuse? she thinks, but even more, how can I possibly say yes?

She finds herself nodding. To spare her friends she will do this. Agreement reached, she gets as far as the door when he calls to her.

"My Lady? I do not mind the lightsaber, but kindly remember this court does adhere to a dress code." He flicks a glance down to her tattered wrappings. "Shall I send you my tailor?"

Her pride roars to life along with a bloom of anger. "If I wish to look like a Sith, I will be sure to let you know."

She slams the door, a low laugh echoing after her.

* * *

She hides in the gardens the next day until the same group of awful ladies come by and gather under a huge weeping oak. She sits far away, careful not to be discovered, and meditates. She picks the most beautifully dressed of the women and, ever so carefully, reaches out with whisper soft tendrils in the Force to invade their mind. She keeps her Force signature quiet, concealing all the terrible loudness she is capable of, and slips inside the memories of a lovely dress being made, and memorizes the name and face of the young woman who stitched it.

It does not take long to find her.

Her name is Selena, and she does not like to work for the courtier's wife whom she so beautifully dresses. Somehow she has heard of Rey, and there is no aversion in her thoughts. Instead she is excited to meet her, though Rey cannot fathom why. Rey explains what she would like to do, and Selena is eager to help. Rey also explains that she has no money to pay for her services, to which Selena laughs.

"You are the Emperor's lady! You can have anything you want."

"Confessor," Rey corrects. It is strange to get used to the title. Strange for her to have a title at all, and not the one she might have hoped to have not so long ago. She shoves the thought aside.

"Are you truly a Jedi?" Selena asks one day as she stitches the hem of a new garment.

"Yes," Rey tells her; Selena's face glows.

"I have heard the stories—are they true?"

"The stories are never entirely true."

Selena does not falter. "It doesn't matter. They give us hope." She places a timid hand on Rey's arm. "You give us hope."

Rey cannot explain why this small kindness makes her cry.

Selena performs her job with exceptional skill, and in just over a week, Rey is ready. She has delayed the official start of her duties, exchanging messages with Ben via protocol droids as if they were bickering children. She has moved her rooms. She no longer resides in the red monstrosity located so close to his. The proximity was becoming painful, and she could not risk him coming to her in a moment of weakness (or her to him).

Instead she moves her meager things to the barracks of the Knights of Ren. She is their Confessor now; she figures she has as much right to be here as the rest of them. Their quarters are deserted, and she notes that Alec's was never lived in given he preferred the more opulent spaces near to the royal apartments. She does not take a knight's cell, but rather the small bedroom and antechamber that look to have been built for the housekeeper. It is nothing fancy, but it is clean and has a very warm fire. It is the first space to have felt like her own since her time on Jakku.

When the initial day of her new duties arrives, she stands before her happy fire, and with Selena's help, she transforms. Gone are her worn wrappings; in their place is a floor length gown of white crowsilk. It is sleeveless and comes to a modest V on her chest and over it rests shimmering gray fabric that wraps across her breasts in Jedi fashion to tie at the waist. (She tries not to compare it to the black gown she had worn in her moment of insanity; she tries not to think of it at all.) At the top of each shoulder rests a simple gold clip, which hold a brown mink cape that trails the floor. On the special belt made by Selena's husband hangs Luke's lightsaber.

She lets Selena pin up her hair in a series of matching gold clips, something softer and more elaborate than she could do by herself. Rey stops short at Selena's offer of cosmetics, and the other woman agrees; Rey does not need them.

"You look like a Jedi queen," Selena breathes, and Rey can't help but smile. She might come from nothing and be nothing, but she doesn't look like it today.

When she enters the receiving room where the Emperor conducts his affairs, there is an audible gasp. Even Ben looks momentarily stunned, and this pleases her more than she can say. She walks with her head held high, her eyes straight ahead, the Imperial Guards parting like water as she takes her place at the Emperor's right hand.

She can feel Ben's eyes on her. "Suitable enough, my Lord?" Her voice is pitched so only he can hear.

The corner of his mouth flirts with a smile.

* * *

The work with Ben is… fascinating. Above all, it is constant and never-ending. He spends his mornings at his desk, reviewing reports and signing orders, conferring with his aides, receiving updates from the fleet and from his Knights. She has seen holovids of everyone except Alec, who is apparently embedded deep on a mission in the Outer Rim. The Emperor spends his afternoons in the grand hall meeting his subjects, greeting envoy after envoy who have come to pledge their support (or humbly request a favor). In the evenings, dinner is always an extravagant and slightly horrid affair, where he sits on a dais and she beside him, along with the other high-ranking officials of the court. The courtiers and their wives and mistresses all watch the proceedings, and Rey feels like a saunafish on display.

She does not enjoy these nights; she hates sifting through the nasty emotions and corrupt souls of everyone present. Always grasping and seeking, pouring negativity like acid on those around them. Jealousy and carnal instincts and the worship of power. She senses that Ben hates it too, though he is too diplomatic to say. There are some nights he has no stomach for eating with the chaff as he calls them, and he takes his meals alone. He is thoughtful enough to invite her, but Rey always declines. She is wary of being alone with him.

Her days are strange. This is a foreign land, and she is living a life that was never meant to be hers. But strangest of all, she is helpful to him. She reads the thoughts of those who speak with him, and she judges their intent. If there is hostility she can neutralize it; if there is fear she can soothe it. She is involved in every meeting, sits in on every council of war. She hates the dark underground bunker, but she sits without complaint at his side. She senses that Ben knows she does not like it, and he takes care to keep those meetings short. She approves of nothing, is not loyal to the Emperor's cause, but to the Emperor? That is a different matter. To him, despite everything, she is unfailingly steadfast. She does not think she could be anything other if she tried.

The morning of her fourth week, Ben catches her falling asleep during a meeting. She tries to shake it off and quickly excuses herself, but nearly faints when she gets up too fast. (She recovers enough to remove his hands when he steadies her.) At dinner that night he watches her carefully. She has no appetite yet he keeps insisting that food be brought to her. Does she feel ill? he asks. Rey only shrugs. Too many late nights studying briefing holopads. She tells him that she just needs more rest. She doesn't understand his scrutiny.

It is not until two days later that she begins to comprehend. She cannot help but eavesdrop on the gaggle of court ladies. They will not give her a second look, and their thoughts of disdain are worse than ever, most especially since she has ascended to her current role. The redhead is particularly unkind, but this morning she looks ill. The ladies murmur rumors of an affair with a First Order officer. The redhead does not confirm or deny, but there are deep circles under her eyes, and Rey overhears her telling the others of spells of fainting and vomiting. It sounds like a terrible disease, and Rey can certainly sympathize. It is then that the oldest one knowingly asks: how far along?

How far along what? Rey thinks, and then she sees their thoughts bloom like hothouse flowers: The redhead is with child.

Rey does throw up then. She sits on the floor of her tiny refresher.

How could she be such an idiot? So hopelessly obtuse. Of course that was why Ben was watching her. She is nothing but an ignorant child like he said, ignorant even of her own body. She has not bled in ages and the thought, oh the thought—

She bursts into tears. She considers the options and does not know which is worse.

She makes a tearful confession to Selena. Selena, her only friend. She tells her that she cannot trust a palace medical droid; that she cannot trust anyone here. But she must know. Can Selena help? What can be done? Rey knows less than nothing.

Selena promises her she will do what she can.

That night Rey wears Selena's clothes and exits through the servants’ access. She cloaks herself in the Force, an anxious specter. She ventures out into the city for the very first time, ducks down dark alleyways and dirty streets to an address. A healer lives here. Primitive medicine, as far as the wealthy are concerned, but it is all that most people can afford. She is an old woman with kind eyes, and she leads Rey to a small back room and has her undress behind a screen.

Rey lies on a hard table down to her underthings and draped in a sheet. She is cold, and she is frightened. The woman asks for her permission before she comes back in.

“What ails you child?”

“I’m pregnant,” Rey says.

“Let me see.” It is here Rey realizes that the woman is blind. Her eyes are rendered kind by a cloudy white film. Her wizened fingers are warm; she makes sure to breathe on them before she places them on Rey’s belly. “When did you last bleed?”

“It was…” She doesn’t know. It does not happen very often. She feels the woman prod her flesh and remembers Ben’s hand there as well.

“Ssh, I see the problem.”

“I am pregnant,” Rey says, and tears gather and spill in desperate hope and fear.

“You are not with child.” The woman holds Rey by the jutting bones of her hips. “You are a child. Undeveloped.”

No, Rey thinks. Not after this. But I have grown.

“Not enough nurture in the desert. No seed will take root here. It is not possible.”

There is a word for that. The driest parts of Jakku with the harshest conditions where no life can survive.

“My child,” the woman cups Rey’s crying face between her ancient hands, “this is a blessing. The Emperor’s line must die.”

Rey does not remember dressing, but she is clothed as she runs back to the palace in everything except the Force.

She hides in her room and curls up on the bed. The woman did not know her name but she knew who she was. A Force healer. Rey feels broken. She does not move from her position, except to send a message to the Emperor the next morning.

She is sick; she cannot attend him. She does not expect him to show up at her door by sundown.

“I would have come sooner.” He looks as ill as she feels, stricken with worry and a larger part full of hope. "What is wrong? Are you—?"

It is the hope she can endure no longer; she shuts his words down with the strength of the Force. She is too raw to answer and so she opens her mind to him. Not everything but enough.

His eyes darken with sadness. His hands flex as if they want to reach out for her. "Please don't," she says, and rubs at another tear. (How can there be so much water in a desert?) She moves to shut the door on him, but something hard and unyielding won’t let her.

“Rey.”

That single word. When had he last said her name? How come she can hear all the other things he does not say? All his caring. All his tenderness. A tyrant who wants to subdue a whole galaxy but now only wants to subdue her hurt.

The door won’t shut. He won’t let it. He removes his gloves and then his hands are on her face. He holds her so carefully, not the evil caress of his former master, not the curious prodding of the old woman. He holds her face and wipes her tears away.

“This changes nothing,” he says, placing a kiss to her forehead. “I will only ever need you as you are.”

She reaches for him then, wraps her arms around the great solid breadth of him, and weeps for what can never be and what she almost had.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, so no sooner had I finished 15 then this one demanded to be written. So here we are, with back-to-back postings. You know how last chapter was Rey's point of view? This one is all Ben. These two chapters are actually companion pieces and meant to be read together.
> 
> (And for those who've been asking about Alec, don't worry—he's up next. ;)
> 
> ((Also also, I am still going to put together the color chart for the throne room scene in ch 13. My plan is to add it as a note at the end of that chapter and I'll let everyone know when it's up.))

“How can I live without thee, how forego  
Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,  
To live again in these wild woods forlorn?”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

She sleeps peacefully now. He has built up the fire. The flames dance to the quiet rhythm of their breathing. There is no more tension in her face, only the pink splotches of newly dried tears. He should have dried them but she did not let him. She does not let him in.

He sits and watches her from a high-backed chair. She lies on a large sofa with her fur-lined cape tucked around her (he knows how she hates to be cold). The room is overly opulent and cluttered with too many objects, gaudy pieces of art; he finds the ostentatiousness distasteful. There is something about the effort that is trying too hard.

Not with her. She is perfection. Unpurified ore. A masterpiece carved by nature.

I miss you, he thinks. The crux of the matter. The fracture in his heart.

Kylo only leaves at the first hint of dawn.

He returns to his rooms and showers. Practices his forms in the cleared out space he reserves for all his training. Does sit ups and push ups and weights until he drips with sweat. He calls for the Imperial Guard and he spars against them: three, then four. Five. Six. The sun is risen now. He showers again. He dons his uniform and sits in the reception room reading the latest reports from Hux. A droid serves him breakfast. He eats enough for ten Hutts and drinks a sarlacc’s share of caf.

The palace is only just stirring but Kylo is always at work. He strides to the receiving hall where he conducts most of his business. He does not like the décor—too much gold and an over-complicated design motif that could induce a headache if one stares for too long—but he likes the size of the desk and the distance it allows from the sycophantic hypocrites of his court.

He picks up the first datapad. A supply order for the military campaign in the Outer Rim. Hux has requested extra resources for two simultaneous ground invasions. There is no contingency for potential prisoners. Kylo adjusts as he sees fit and sends his instructions back. He contacts Pular, who is still en route back to his territory of the Guild Systems. It is an esoteric discussion about the nature of the Force and how it might be manipulated by the dead. Kylo finds the conversation more productive than he had initially hoped, given what he suspects of the young knight’s loyalties. He makes notes. He allows the courtiers an audience.

They enter in a multicolored performance, all pageantry and lies. It reminds him of his childhood on Chandrila surrounded by jesters crowing for his mother’s ear.

“My Lord.” Cescan Wylde bows before the desk. A bloated charlatan dressed in scarlet, he is the highest-ranking nobleman in Coruscant and a constant thorn in Kylo’s side. “We must hear your thoughts on the latest tax relief proposition. Without it I fear—”

“The Empire is still at war,” Kylo says. “And with it I know you will all make a tidy profit.” Arms manufacturing is the biggest growth industry of the Core Worlds. “Do you wish to take with one hand and beg for more with the other?”

“My Lord!” Wylde bows further until his bulbous nose is almost touching the floor. “Forgive the inopportune timing. My only wish is to aid you in serving the will of the people.”

“And no doubt the will of the people aligns with that of the Empire.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The point is conceded rather reluctantly, but Kylo lets it slide. They move onto less contentious but still necessary topics, including social programs and the development of more infrastructure.

In his mind, Kylo is divided. The Emperor talks but the man pines. He can sense her wandering. A flash of hurt that stabs at him. A surge of anger that makes him smile. As the day drags onwards, she moves closer towards him. He is the only one not to react when she storms through the door.

Fresh air, he thinks. No pretence. Sweet guilelessness. She is the first real thing he has seen.

He orders the masses to leave them but already there is no one else. Come to me, my darling. Do you miss me? Do you see what is destined and not a misguided dream?

He wants her. A physical want. His body is a traitor. Weak despite all its strength, all his training. He has tasted the wine. He has smoked the root. He will make her want him as well.

It is not the Force, he thinks. It is us. What is between us is the meeting of our minds, it is the union of our souls. (Their bodies too, but he is denied that pleasure.)

He needs her by his side and so he convinces her. There is a vacancy anyway. It was always waiting for her.

As she leaves, he makes a cheap dig at her clothes. He is immune to the offensiveness of her Jedi rags now. He will never be immune to her rage and passion.

It is enough to make him laugh.

* * *

He is not laughing now.

A week he has waited for her. Finally, she approaches. A goddess made of light and fire. There is gold in her ensemble and it becomes a part of her.

She crosses the room to where he sits, and the crowds part. He wants to take her here upon his desk. Spread her out. Bend her over. Push up her skirts with an urgent slowness, remind himself of her skin, of her scent. Be inside her.

Fuck.

She stands at his right side, and she whispers mocking words.

He cannot tell her the confession that stretches his ribs. That tugs at his mouth in the hint of a smile.

* * *

She makes his days easy.

You were made for this, he thinks. Her clever mind is a sponge for knowledge. Her loving heart is a gauge for deceit. You were naïve, he thinks, but something has awakened. The meditation they practiced, the gifts in her possession that he showed her how to use, all have combined and reformed into something much richer. She is curious. She is protective of his interests. She hates all the empty, fake parts as much as him.

It could be so easy, he thinks. Give in. Let go. Be who you were meant to be.

She does not like the business of war. He feels her discomfort as they descend into the bunker. He shelters her from the Darkness there that hangs in the Force. He cuts their war councils short. He cuts off Hux in mid-sentence. Anything to ease her mind. To keep her close.

The campaign is straightforward. The only arguments come over the handling of prisoners. Hux had made the assumption that there would be none.

Kylo knows the fleet’s loyalty still hangs by a thread. He knows the court only panders to him while he teeters on the edge of the throne. Nothing is permanent. Nothing is secure. He is building something with no foundations. He does not want to build only on what came before.

Together, he thinks, we could build anything. But still she must deny him. She refuses his invites to have dinner in private. She will not sit with him alone.

* * *

She makes his nights hard.

He goes down to the catacombs. He reads in the library and pretends her body sleeps against him. He sits in silence because he hears no voices. It is as if the spirits are afraid of him.

He reads and he explores. He has discovered darker caves, whole caverns sealed away that contain the dead. It takes a week of studying blueprints and surveys and geological reports, all the original documentation of how the palace came to be built. A scratched holodisc in an out of date design. He has to modify a projector by hand (she would have done it in half the time) until he can unlock its contents and see for himself.

Thousands of dead buried down here. Natural structures and spaces where remains could be placed. The holovid offers a guided tour. A graveyard of the Sith. The only place he knew of before was the Valley of the Dark Lords on Moraband. Now each night he discovers new tombs. He communes with fallen masters. Palpatine was a morbid collector. A hunter who liked to keep all his kills.

The darkest cave is also the deepest. The largest. The quietest place Kylo has ever been.

On every ragged ridge of rock are piled skulls and bones. He first sees it all by the light of his saber. Empty sockets and muted mouths filled with shadow. Death and no refrain. Rey would be screaming. He wants to understand why it affects her differently. But here he thinks he has found the source.

A sarcophagus on the bony pile. A skeleton pyre and a black stone structure, dead men bearing the only thing manmade. The lid is in the shape of a body. A man in long robes. There is an etching on the surface. A stylized script in Basic. He admires the design.

**_Here Lies the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise_ **

Kylo removes the lid with the Force. A full skeleton inside and a rusted saber. He touches them and senses nothing; the emptiness is strange. He gathers the bones in his cloak and takes them to the library.

And that is how he spends his nights. Sitting in silence with the bones of a Sith Lord, wondering who will speak first.

* * *

This morning she is distant. She looks pale. He has not slept a true night in weeks but he is used to it. Plagueis has remained stubbornly stoic and Kylo’s readings have only led him so far. He orders caf and fruit and sweets be brought as they sit at his desk. She ignores the caf and only picks off flakes from her pastry. She is even less inclined to eat during lunch.

The day progresses slowly. She is distracted. At one point her head drops with tiredness and she starts as she wakes from almost sleep. It is during a meeting in the grand hall with a trade delegation from Naboo. She attempts to excuse herself but rises too quickly. Kylo is instantly at her side as she stumbles. She won’t let him hold her. It takes everything he has in his power not to take her in his arms and carry her from the room.

Instead he must watch her go, whatever deal was meant to be made an insignificant detail. He tells his guards to escort her back to her rooms and demands a medical droid be called for, but she returns to his side and accuses him of making a fuss over nothing. Horrid little liar that she is, at dinner she still does not eat.

The pattern continues for the next two days. Nearly a month since their return. An idea is forming, nascent. He does not ask her how she’s feeling when she retires that night, her meal again untouched. There are too many thoughts in his head. He can sense no change in her signature but could it be? Is it possible? He wants to hope but he fears too much. He cannot ask her. He thinks she would strike him down, add a new scar across his face.

He returns to the library and sits with the dead. He thinks of his father and of everything he would do differently. He remembers his dream. The round swell of her belly. Their child growing inside of her. Her carrying a part of him.

He feels himself harden. He feels her presence grow weak. She is outside the palace. Somehow, he knows this. He palms himself through his clothes and sleeps inside the dream.

He wakes still in the library. He has slept through the night. He reaches out for her and he can feel her, shrouded but inside her new quarters. He does not think about how she has removed herself from him, how she sleeps so far away and yet so near.

He arrives at the receiving rooms and a message is waiting for him. She is not well; she cannot attend to him today. He does not send a medical droid. He cannot go to her. He has overslept and there is too much work to do, too much business to discuss.

He cannot remove her from the front of his thoughts.

He is short-tempered without her. He is rash and impulsive. He cannot make logical calls. He snaps in anger. He smashes a datapad after sending an urgent message to Hux’s Destroyer. The day drags on and he is losing his grip on reality. He is a fool. He is a helpless child. It culminates in his greatest lapse of sanity when he agrees to a private meeting with Cescan Wylde.

“My Lord.”

“Get to the point.”

The large desk between them does not seem sufficient a barrier to quell the pathetic worm’s obvious nerves. But enough of Kylo is thinking straight to suspect this meeting was called to coincide with the absence of another.

“You do the Core Worlds a great honor in your benevolent patronage.” This is obviously a practised speech. “You are borne of noble blood, too.” Kylo wants to punch a wall. “In these unstable times, as you work so carefully to restore security across the galaxy, it would seem prudent to ensure an alliance… to unify the planets through…”

Kylo knows what is coming but he is not prepared for the word to be spoken.

“Marriage,” Wylde says.

Kylo throws the desk aside with a flick of the Force. He stalks towards the insolent pile of excrement and picks him up by his lapels, his pudgy legs helplessly kicking several feet off the floor

“To whom?” Kylo says.

“There are many great families—”

I will kill you, Kylo thinks. Wylde can no longer breathe. It is due to Kylo’s hands now squeezing his throat.

“Tell your high borne friends I must decline the honor.”

He drops Wylde to the ground.

“My Lord,” the nobleman chokes. He tries to reach an arm out pleadingly. “You must understand… the court… they expect… an Emperor to wed…” Giving up, he collapses, coughing and breathing heavily. “There must be an heir.”

Kylo storms from the room. He will give the court what it wants.

He goes to her quarters. How did it take this long? He needs to see her, to hold her, to know how she is.

She opens the door and her eyes give him his answer.

“I would have come sooner,” he says. “What is wrong? Are you—?”

She will not speak but she opens her mind to him. Finally, he sees everything she has been seeing, what she feels. The cruelty of the courtiers’ wives. Her insecurities. Her fears. The knowledge of what she might be carrying. And then the revelation of a blind witch.

His Rey is not meant for more than she is. And she fears it is not enough for him.

His hands flex in her proximity. She is crying as if his reaction will only make things worse. “Please don’t,” she says. She tries to shut the door on him. His hand shoots out and he holds firm. He is not going anywhere. This is where he is meant to be.

He is still finding the words. He can only say her name. He can only remove his gloves and reach out to hold her face, to wipe her tears away like he is made to do. This is what he has trained for.

“This changes nothing,” he says. Fuck the court. Fuck everything. Fuck children. Fuck a family. She is his family. This is all he needs.

He tells her so. He is overwhelmed by all she is. He kisses her forehead and the reminder of her skin ignites the memory of every other touch they have shared.

Her arms come around him and he holds her tight to his chest. He lets her cry on him. He can absorb it all. All her sadness and loneliness, every feeling of inadequacy; he holds her and thinks her a queen.

He wants her to know this. Know how she shines. How she is brilliant. How she diminishes every other thing in existence.

He wants her to know that he loves her. Every part of who she is.

He doesn’t say it. He only keeps her in his arms, safe, where she is always welcome, where he will always keep her.

There are ghosts in the basement he will not let haunt her. There are snakes in the garden he will not let bite her. There is a galaxy that is not worth an atom of what she means to him.

He doesn’t say anything. Just tucks her into bed and stokes the fire and sits and watches her sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I promised y'all Alec, and here he is. Prepare yourselves for a Hard Left Turn™. ;)

“His form had yet not lost  
All her original brightness, nor appear'd  
Less than archangel ruin'd”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

When he wakes, there is blood.

It is not the blood that troubles Alec. He has bled much in his twenty-seven years, and he has caused many to bleed. Blood is life. It is the color of passion and of war; it is the essence of the Sith. The blood is not the problem. The problem is the floor.

It is metal and corrugated and painted a dull gray. It hums. He knows this because his face is pressed against it, and the rest of his body does not seem inclined to move. The hum is an engine; the floor is attached to a vehicle. He tries to concentrate, but his thoughts escape like vapor.

There is something he needs to remember.

He sifts through memories like pieces of straw. Sees the face of the last man he killed, the last woman he fucked, hears a song his mother used to sing to him when he was a child. The stories Ben would read to them long after curfew in the Temple. Forbidden stories, the best stories.

_There is no honor in passivity. There is no glory in restraint._

He sees his planet burn. Lush, green land torn asunder by flames. He hears the screams of those he cannot save. Sees himself begging Luke to do something, anything—

His body jolts upright. His mind is still in fragments, but this memory has triggered a physical response. Same as before. You will not take me out. You will not cast me aside. You will let me help. I was made to help. I am so much stronger than the rest. I will not stand idly by.

His arms are straining; the pressure is coming from his wrists. He is bound. Just like before. He is helpless. (Just like before.) He calls upon a wave of dark energy and pulls the metal cuffs apart. Like a groggy, wounded animal he raises himself up on his hands. The memories are coming faster. His planet burning. A temple burning in return. Running. Hiding. Seeking shelter in the edges of deep space. Finding help. An unexpected ally. Years of servitude. Of waiting. A palace. The palace. He is a knight with a king and a lady fair. _My Lady._ He is so close. Bright light and a wicked staff. A smile. Trust in her eyes. Sadness. Tears.

Rey.

Where is she? WHERE IS SHE? He screams her name. There is nothing. He searches for her signature. Silence. He knows why.

His legs are still bound. The blood on the floor is from a gash on his head. The wound she had given him; it is reopened now. He doesn't remember, but he can see it all so clearly. Kylo waiting until they fell asleep. Of course he would. Master of lies and deceit. He let her come to Alec, knowing full well what he would do. Wait. Until she can’t see what he really is. Probably used Force sleep. Drugs as well.

Alec feels along his neck and finds a telltale puncture at the base of his hairline. Durasteel cuffs on his wrists and ankles. He snaps the second set, and he is on his feet.

The corrugated metal extends to the walls. Three of them and a ceiling. There are no windows, but the fourth wall is formed by a transparisteel observation panel, and on the other side of that is a chair. Alec charges. He channels the Force to break through. It doesn't. It nearly breaks him.

No matter. He is a trapped animal. He is a wild beast. He charges again and again. The gash on his head splits further. He doesn't bother to wipe the blood from his face. Exhausted, he presses his body to the transparent surface. It glows green and red, mixing into a muddy brown with the darker blood that is his. Only then does he understand. The throne room. This shield is made of the same crystal. Unbreakable. Force-immune. He staggers back from it.

Coward, he thinks. He screams. He is unhinged. "WHERE ARE YOU?!" The walls shake with his voice. There is no answer. Alec cannot sense him.

He stumbles backwards until he connects with the far wall. He sags against it; his body slides down to the floor.

Bastard, he thinks. You couldn't stand the idea that she might choose me. He pushes out with the Force, using his rage to make the walls bend and stretch. They groan under the strain, but they do not break.

Rey, he thinks. Rey.

He hears a sound. A faint signature in the distance. It comes closer. Alec can read it now. It is not the one he seeks, and it is not the one he wishes to kill. It is one infinitely more tedious. He closes his eyes. He hears an external door open, and footsteps behind the wall of crystal glass. The scrape of the chair moving. He knows who it is. He feels the smugness, the baseless superiority and garish pride that flood the room with an awful stench. Alec opens his eyes.

"Welcome aboard, Sui-Marshal.” The triumphant face of General Armitage Hux looks back. "And how are we this morning?"

* * *

Alec is in hell.

The ancient Sith have no unified concept of the afterlife, at least not to the extent that many other religions have developed, but he remembers Ben once coming across a fable of a Sith Lord who died after falling prey to the Light. He was punished forever, his power stripped, left impotent and subject to the whims of fate. An eternity of uselessness. Of conscious banality. But Alec thinks that is nothing compared to this.

It is worse than Luke's endless lectures, worse than Malaak's self-designed tattoos. The complete and utter idiocy to which he now finds himself captive. And his tormentor provides no end.

Hux is seated comfortably in the chair behind the crystal wall. He has ordered coffee. "Not caf," he makes sure to explain. "Actual vine-coffee. Have you ever heard of it? Grows in the mountainous regions of Joralla, near the crimson sea. The temperature must be so precise—a degree off here or there and the plants won't flower and the beans won't grow. And then there is the roasting…"

He finally shuts up when the actual thing arrives. There is a cart with a gold tray holding an antiquated tea set and a tall pot with a long, curving spout. Hux makes a show of pouring the black liquid into delicate cups with saucers, asking Alec if he'd like cream or sugar. Alec contemplates the different ways he could disembowel him. He thinks Hux knows this, which only makes him worse. He places two tiny white cakes onto a plate for him. Would he like a chocolate one too?

"Sure," Alec says. "And I suppose that I am to enjoy them from the other side of this glass."

"Funny that," Hux says. He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out what looks to be a thin metal wand. "This hold was constructed by Supreme Leader Snoke many years ago, specifically to contain individuals such as yourself. Would you believe that if I place this here," he sets the metal against the glass, "and move it like so," the wand spins in a circle and a space appears in the crystal wall. Hux places Alec's cup and plate on the cell floor, and circles back with the wand to replace the missing section. He motions to the food. "I trust you can do the rest." Alec slides both toward him with a flick of his fingers and fails to spill a drop.

"Are you to be my executioner?" he says.

"And waste perfectly good coffee?"

"You know what I mean."

For the first time, Hux appears less than gleeful. "Alas, no."

"So I am your prisoner."

"You are the Emperor's guest, Sui-Marshall. I am but the humble instrument of his hospitality."

"And how far does this hospitality extend?"

Hux sips his coffee and pretends to consider. "That would depend entirely upon your intent, Sui-Marshall. Should you wish to serve the Empire, you may serve under my command. It is said you are very skilled in battle. There are places we are going where I might have need of you."

"And just how do you propose to ascertain my intent?"

"A very good question." He reaches into a different pocket and pulls out a small datapad. "Our Emperor has provided some notes on the composition and traits of this structure. It seems that if—" he peers at the pad and scrolls down for effect "—you were to place any part of your body against this wall and I were to ask you a question, I could see your intent in all its… colorful glory."

"So I am to be tested?"

"Let us say we shall converse before you may roam about."

"And if I roam too far?"

Hux's face returns to a look of pleasure. "If you revolt, my orders are to kill you. If you escape, my orders are to hunt you down. T'would be a shame, but of course I serve at the pleasure of the Emperor…"

"Of course," Alec says. He takes a sip of the vine-coffee; it is quite good. "And just where are we headed?"

Hux holds his stare. "What do you know of Takodana?"

* * *

It is a vast, forested planet, a crossroads of lawlessness and culture. The castle on the lake sits on the site of an ancient battleground between the Jedi and the Sith. And the mistress of that castle is no less than a legend. Alec has never been, not for lack of wanting to, but he had heard the stories of the pirate queen and her Force-sensitivities. During the days of his Outer Rim journeys, he had even gone so far as to send a back-channel emissary (not willing to out his former life should they happen to meet). Maz had been keen to accept his offer—that there would be no trouble for the fledgling First Order so long as the First Order made none. All it required was the meeting of two conditions: no politics and no religion on her planet. Anarchy to be sure, but at the time it did no harm because Maz kept her promise.

Now those days are gone.

She has hitched her lot with the Resistance, and her quiet smuggler's lair has become a headquarters for guerilla operations across the galaxy. It is a problem, and it must be stamped out. In some ways Alec feels it a crime to destroy Maz and her legacy—a history which has stood for more than a thousand years—but such are the casualties of war.

He tells Hux this, and Hux reminds him of the attack that had been led by the Emperor (Master of the Knights Ren at the time) in his endless pursuit to find and kill Luke Skywalker. Hux thinks the whole operation was bungled and does not mind sharing. If they had just wiped out everyone at the time there would have been no problem later, but the Emperor had been… distracted. Alec has heard this story too. Far too long after the fact. They still speak of it at the palace. Of how he carried the Lady Rey across a live battlefield in his haste to possess her. (Alec wonders how many other poor fools he carelessly destroyed in his obsession that day.)

They finish their coffee, and Hux offers to let him out so they can strategize further, but Alec declines. He is in no mood to become the general's trained cur, and there is so much rage within him now that he thinks he could shatter the crystal if he tried hard enough. So Hux leaves him, returning the next day to ask if he has reconsidered (there is no coffee this time), and again Alec says no. An entire week of this, and finally Hux comes to him in the daytime cycle, exasperated, all but begging for his help. Alec accepts, mostly out of morbid curiosity but also because he is bored out of his fucking mind.

He places his hand on the crystal, and Hux asks if he will obey. The glass turns red with bits of gold shot through. Hux consults his datapad, and apparently that's good enough to gain release.

Alec follows him to the bridge, and Hux explains that they have made modest advances on Maz's forces in the past week, but there has been no sign of the pirate herself. Alec suggests simply destroying the entire planet (he knows from experience that fire works beautifully for such a purpose), and is surprised this hasn't already been done. At that Hux's face falls, as if someone has just taken away his marta-puppy, and his mouth twists into an ugly shape.

"By order of the Emperor, she must be taken alive."

Alec whips his head around. "Kylo said that?" It doesn't sound like his _brother_. "Has he lost his damn mind?"

Hux's face screws up into an even more unattractive expression. "The order is not his. It comes from the new Confessor."

"The new—what?"

It’s not like he expected to keep his job, but hearing of such a quick replacement stings. Has Pular schemed to take his place? Or Ersn? Vadanav cares nothing for such things, and Malaak is little more than a brute. Alec’s skin itches with annoyance. Hux regards him with something akin to pity.

"I forgot that you did not know. It was quite the controversial decision. But given the Emperor's base proclivities, it seemed inevitable…"

Alec reaches out to search the man's mind. He is not as good at this as some of his fellow knights, but he can eke out the fundamentals when necessary. He finds a word in Hux's mind and a corresponding image, and for a moment he is lost.

He sees her. _Her._ The Jedi is the Emperor's Confessor.

He sinks into a nearby chair. But of course she is. Of course. Kylo would want to keep her close. The bastard probably orchestrated it as a way to force her to spend every waking moment with him, whether she wanted to or not. His rage in that moment feels boundless, and jealousy consumes him like a rabid dog.

It is he who should be near her. It is he who has earned the honor of being by her side. Not because he seeks to control her, but because he seeks to let her choose.

Bastard. He feeds the hate inside him. Gives it nurture and endless care. The Darkness in him purrs like a sated beast.

Hux watches him carefully. After a moment, he continues. "Do you think we can do it?"

"Let me lead the mission,” Alec says, now standing, “and I will deliver the pirate to you within the week."

* * *

It takes a little over two weeks, but Hux does not complain. Alec leads a small band of troopers. The most skilled fighters the General has. He has them paint their armor in green and black; this is not about might but about stealth. They enter the forest quietly and under cover of darkness.

And then Alec begins to work.

By the end of the second week most of Maz's forces have been killed, and they have chased her into the mountains. She knows these spaces well, but Alec can find her signature and he uses it to hunt like a bird of prey. He cloaks his own. This is his gift, a unique Force attribute that is his and his alone. He can conceal himself from view and find another. It is a useful gift. An assassin's gift. He finds her wounded inside a small, dank cave. Her guards lie dead around her. He can see her move to read his thoughts and renders her unconscious with the butt of his blaster (due to the Emperor's orders, he is still denied his saber).

He brings her back, and they throw her into the cell that had been previously occupied by him. Alec does not see her once she wakes. They move on to Endor and join the rest of Hux’s armada, where a rebellion from tiny bear-like creatures is in the process of being stamped out. Alec doesn't bother going down to the surface for this one. He just lets Hux do what Hux does best.

Afterwards, there is something of a celebration among the crew. Alec wonders if this means they will be returning to Coruscant.

It does. The Emperor orders Hux to return without delay. Except there is another message. And it is not for the General. Sent by encrypted means over an encrypted channel. It is for Alec. The datapad flashes as Hux's First Officer hands it over. It is marked as urgent.

Alec retires to his borrowed quarters. He assumes the message contains the order for his execution. But if that were the case, why send it to him? The Emperor has such a gift for death; perhaps he has found a way to accomplish it via transmission?

Alec drinks half a bottle of whiskey and decides that even Vader's heir couldn't be that strong. He is tempted to crush the datapad in his hands, but he doesn’t. What could be so important that the great Kylo Ren seeks his advice? Trouble in the bedroom? Perhaps his technique had been found lacking. Alec comforts himself with the petty thought. Perhaps the lady is not amenable to endless manipulation. Perhaps she would like to have a choice. He leaves the datapad on the desk for the better part of an hour before curiosity grows too strong and he must know.

He swipes in his code, and it takes a moment for the encryption to register. When it does, Alec feels the worlds shift. The transmission contains a set of coordinates and a scan of an ancient map. There is also the message:

**_The library is silent. Plagueis is gone.  
If you love her, help me._ **

**_-Ren_ **

The coordinates are to the planet Moraband. The map is of the Valley of the Dark Lords.

* * *

He has never been here, though he has dreamed about it. Moraband. Stronghold of the ancient Sith. The desolate, mountainous terrain. The red sands. The dying orange sun. A holy place, filled with dark and ancient power. It is not for the faint of heart.

For this trip, Hux has loaned him his personal shuttle. It is more than Alec needs, but it can easily be piloted by a one-man crew and reach sublight speeds without any external drive rings. From the time he receives Kylo's message to the time he touches down on the planet's surface, it has scarcely been four hours.

In that time there are three new messages, each one containing more information, more theories, more things that need to be explored. There is a problem, and they must solve it. A dragon that must be slain.

A princess who must be saved.

Alec is many things. Noble isn't one of them. But as he steps onto dry red sands and feels the hot sun on his face, he thinks he could be. He thinks he must be, for he cannot fail.

He follows the map. The sands whirl around him. He hears voices on the wind. He climbs over and around the mountainous terrain. It is desolate here. It is unforgiving. At last, he sees it. Tucked away in the heart of a jagged valley. He can see the triangular gates, same as an illustration that Ben once showed him in a holopad they had boosted from Luke's personal collection.

He passes through them. It is a surreal moment. To see all the things they had read about and dreamed about and know that they are real. Ancient, skeletal ruins. Palaces and temples that used to be. Giant cloaked statues whose faces have been torn away by the sand and the never-ending desert winds. He walks past them. He feels like he should kneel. The voices whisper. He cannot hear what they are saying, but they guide his steps; he does not need the map.

A graveyard of ruins, of towering spires that rise high into the air. He breathes the charged air of this place. It is a tonic. A raw and powerful elixir. All the things they hold dear. Glory. Action. Strength. He feels it seep into his very bones. When he sees the temple, he gasps with pleasure as if responding to a lover's touch.

It is a pyramid made from obsidian, split down the middle to reveal an entrance. There are markings he cannot read, but he senses their power. A blessing. A dark benediction. He steps inside.

It is dark. He switches on his saber for light. It had been restored to him for this mission by express order of the Emperor. The red soothes the black walls like a balm; it makes the markings inside glow. Before him is a cavern, larger than anything he has ever seen before. He cannot find the ceiling, nor can he see the external walls. All is vast darkness. It is beautiful; it is death made manifest, the abyss in perfect tactile relief. A row of figures stand before him. He walks between them. Fourteen statues are there to greet him, the powerful Lords of old.

And beyond that, a carved black box on a raised dais. He knows this place, the Lord who rests therein. The most holy one of all.

Alec approaches. He feels the whispers take form and the form become movement. Dust and vapor swirl about him. The air shifts. The ground trembles. His saber flickers and then the light is gone. All is dark. And from that darkness, he hears a voice.

"Welcome, young knight. We've been expecting you."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Our Gothic Space Soap Opera is rolling full-speed ahead. And this chapter has everything (except Alec, cos he's chillin' with dead Sith Lords on Moraband). But we've got action! Adventure! Super-important wardrobe changes!! Hux!! Maz-effing Kanata is in the house!! Also, our bbs finally find their words and use them (holy crap do they use them). Scores are settled! Love is declared! Ben gets flustered! Hotness happens! Angst happens! More hotness happens! No trope is left behind! No opportunity for drama is left behind!
> 
> This might actually be one of my favorites. <3

"But now at last the sacred influence  
Of light appears"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

There is no greater sentient experience than that of absolute victory.

The first time came when Hux was twelve years old. He instructed a child to strike another, and the child obeyed him. A whole army of mindless orphans under his command. Victory over the weak was the initial heady high. Years later he would achieve victory over his tormentor. The assassination of his father. He had finally ascended to a level where he truly belonged.

Under the guidance of the Supreme Leader, there were more momentous days. A glowing red sky and the destruction of a system that threatened a lifetime of dedication. Total power felt so close but was always snatched away by an overgrown brat in a mask.

He thinks if he had pulled the trigger—if he had not succumbed to his father’s whispered taunts of _weak_ and ended Kylo Ren as he lay like a sleeping dog—he might have experienced his greatest victory of all.

Today Hux stands on a raised platform overlooking the hangar of his most beloved ship. The _Finalizer_ has been a loyal mistress (they are hard to come by). The walls and floor shine a reflective black. If Hux looks down he can see his mirror image. But Hux never looks down on himself.

Instead he surveys the rows of his stormtroopers. He has bred that fledgling orphan army into an unstoppable race. Discipline. Conformity. Obedience. They are all behaviors that can be taught if instilled with a firm enough hand. It makes him miss the steady presence of Phasma. She was a rare equal and an even rarer being of more passionate commitment to the First Order than him.

But things have changed. Loyalty is not rewarded. Perseverance is sneered at as a waste of time. Take privilege and entitlement and the brazen luck of being gifted with magical powers and you can be Emperor. The bastard offspring of a promiscuous maid must always know his place. But ambition has been one gift at least Hux gladly accepts from his father.

Now he waits. The Emperor is doing him the honor of acknowledging his latest success on the General’s flagship as it orbits Coruscant. Capturing a senile midget pirate and crushing a planet of teddybears. This is not the absolute victory Hux has grown accustomed to.

The hangar doors draw back, and the Emperor’s personal shuttle lands. Hux find its folded wings ugly and lacking in proper function. He purses his lips and lifts his chin. He will endure the charade for until the time of irreversible triumph comes.

The landing ramp lowers and steam disperses. Hux can see a tall, black figure descend.

"Supreme Leader—" Hux stops. There is another. The Emperor pauses and holds out his hand.

A delicate white hand is placed in the Emperor’s glove, and a woman appears. The Emperor waits for her to move down the steps until she is secure by his side.

The girl.

She does not look like a girl now. She is dressed like an Empress. Hux thinks of his whore mother, who spread her legs for any willing officer in the vain hope of achieving status by letting it blow its seed inside her. Looks like it works out for some.

The Emperor keeps his companion close, her arm tucked in his as they walk down the aisle created by the stormtroopers. His Confessor, Hux corrects himself, and faintly smiles as he remembers telling Magess the happy news.

Hux clears his throat and starts again. "My Lord, welcome aboard the _Finalizer_ on this most momentous of days. The reign of the First Order is once more secure in the crushing of the Outer Rim rebellions."

"Congratulations," Ren says. "You have done the Empire a great service." Such flat nasal tones of indifference have not been heard since the days of Brendol Hux.

It seems to Armitage Hux that the Emperor has little interest in ruling the galaxy. There is a tempting piece of flesh he wishes to conquer instead. Perhaps he already has. Hux ponders the mysterious nature of their relationship. The girl’s face is paler than her usual desert-rat complexion. Her eyes dart about the large hangar as if she is searching for a threat.

Look here, Hux thinks. And she does.

Something sharp pierces his skull, the finest of needles sliding through bone into brain. He presses a fist to his mouth and fights to stay standing. The Emperor stops his procession and whispers something to the girl.

The pain subsides like a bubble has burst. Hux tastes blood where he has bit his tongue. The girl still stares at him. Ren does not smile but looks amused.

"General Hux," he says, "we desire to see the prisoner."

We? This is new. Hux gestures to his men. He cannot speak. The girl is looking through him. The ghosts of fingers caress his slicked back hair, scratch the nape of his neck, poke at the vulnerable skin of his throat.

A dozen stormtroopers step out and march down the aisle towards the cursed pair. One loses his footing for a brief moment, and Hux wants to scream.

"My girl!" a voice cries out. The stormtrooper formation breaks apart like a matchstick house. "Let me see you!"

Blasters are raised. Raised by the troopers and then raised into the air. "Do not shoot her!" The girl has let go of Kylo. "Maz!" she yells as she approaches the men and shoves them aside with invisible hands.

The girl is on her knees now. Troopers lie on the floor, and their weapons clatter by their sides in noisy reflection. A small, shrivelled orange figure shuffles forward with cuffs about her hands and feet.

"My girl, look at you," she says.

The girl raises a hand, and the cuffs fall away. She and the prized prisoner, the First Order’s only spoil of war, embrace in the center of a victorious disaster. Hux spits blood onto the black polished dais.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

"Did you hurt her?" The girl points to a wound on the prisoner’s head. She rises to her feet and looks at him. The unseen fingers return to prod at his face. "That was against your orders!"

"Orders?! Who are you to order me, you—"

His mouth won’t move. The soft fingers are gone, and a large, ungentle hand has pried his skull wide open.

"General," the Emperor says. He has not moved, still flanked by his equally static masked guard. "Choose your next words wisely." A gloved hand unclenches, and Hux’s head returns to whole. "I would hate for you to ruin such a momentous day."

"My Lord." The bile of humiliation rises; there is acid in his throat. He watches as the girl leads the prisoner towards the Emperor’s ship. "What are you doing?"

"Maz is under my protection," the girl says.

"My Lord," Hux pleads, his esophagus now burnt through.

Kylo looks at him and gives the slightest of shrugs. "I defer to my Confessor on the matter." He allows the girl and her traitorous friend to pass, ensuring his guards shield them as they reach the boarding ramp. "A pleasure as always, General," he says. Then the Emperor turns his back on him.

Hux strokes the handle of his gun.

* * *

"He was going to kill you," Rey says.

She watches as Ben removes his cloak and sits down. They are confined to the private quarters of his ship, now en route back to Coruscant. Rey doesn’t think Ben seems particularly disturbed by the murderous intent that was radiating off the General. There is a small orange creature with tiny squinting eyes that holds his attention instead.  
  
"Only because there was no chance to kill you," he says. He is looking at Maz. "Do you have something to say?"

Maz climbs onto the arm of Rey’s chair and whispers, loud enough for all to hear, "This boy got handsome."

Rey tries not to glance at Ben as if she wants to agree; her cheeks warm and she fears she is blushing. "Why don’t you tell me what happened?" She forces her eyes to stay on Maz. "How did they find you? Did you get badly hurt?"

"Just like his father," Maz says.

"I was small as you the last time we met." Ben stands, which seems pointless; he dwarfs them both while seated. "Do not assume after all this time that we know each other."

"I know you, Ben Solo."

"Maz," Rey says, and places a hand on her arm. "Please. Tell me everything."

Ben heads for the door. "Let me give you two some privacy. I am sure there are important Resistance matters to discuss."

Rey lets him go; she ignores his parting words. Part of her wants to follow (and not just to berate him). He has been such a constant presence for the last two days, it feels strange without him near.

"You love him," Maz says.

"What?"

"I understand. A man like that. Large. Powerful. Reminds me of an ex-boyfriend."

"No."

"You don’t love him?"

"You don’t understand." How does she explain? How he stayed by her side through a fitful night of sleep. How he had breakfast served in her quarters and insisted she eat. How he told her to rest and came back whenever he could, did work on an empty bunk and had datapads brought over and still asked for her opinion on things he claimed to only trust her for. How he cared for her more than she ever knew possible. How does she explain anything when she doesn’t understand it herself?

"You need him."

"Yes."

"And he needs you."

"How do you mean?"

"The Force. Don’t you feel it? How it surrounds you both. It glows. There is so much yearning. So much love. That boy has not changed." Maz looks at the closed door as if Ben might reappear. "He got tall, but he has not changed."

"He killed Han."

"I know. Do you think it made him darker?"

Rey rubs at a tear that threatens to escape. "No," she says.

"My girl." Maz takes a hand in both of hers. "I have lived for a thousand years and have seen people do the most foolish things, the most heinous acts. And still I have seen them come back to the Light."

"There’s so much Light in him," Rey says. "He shows me every day. He can be so cruel, but he has been so kind to me."

"That is Ben Solo. Do you doubt it?"

"No. I doubt myself."

"My child."

Rey unburdens herself in Maz’s small arms. She tells her all that has happened (minus the most intimate parts). It reminds her of Leia, at the start of this. Lost and without hope. Now lost and with small embers of hope, the little sparks that burn. The weight of it feels harder.

"You are so brave, child, so brave."

"I don’t know. I feel scared most days."

"And you fight. You carry on. That takes courage."

The ship is descending. The door slides back.

"Excuse me. Rey…" Ben looks at her. He does not stop even as Maz hops down and weaves around his legs, declaring she needs the refresher.

He sits down before her. His eyes are filled with concern. "Was it too soon?" he says.

Rey shakes her head. He means her going back to work, but she had insisted she wanted to go with him on this trip.

"You were amazing," he says.

"Hux just knows how to bring out the best in people."

He laughs. She lets him take her hand. Ever since she broke down in his arms, his touches have been carefully rationed, undemanding and so tentative. It is becoming easy now. It is welcome and familiar.

"Rey." His long fingers wrap around hers. He runs his thumb across her knuckles. "Would you have dinner with me?"

"Where?" She is not sure she can handle being made a spectacle of the court.

"No. Not there." She thinks she must have projected too loudly. Or maybe he can simply read her expression. "I wouldn’t put you through that."

"Then where?"

"In my quarters," he says. "Tonight."

There is a vibration through the Force. A wave of longing, just as Maz had described it. Rey isn’t sure if it is coming from her or from him.

"I…"

A loud crash can be heard from inside the refresher. Rey’s hand is released as she calls out to Maz.

"I'm fine," Maz says. The door opens, and she emerges, a towel wrapped around her head and another swirling about her tiny body. "Such fantastic water pressure! I commend you, young Solo." She hops back onto the arm of Rey’s chair, oblivious to _young Solo_ ’s glare. "Though it wouldn't hurt to put the dials a little closer to the ground."

* * *

Rey takes Maz back to her rooms, and Ben does not object. He does not say anything at all, instead returning to the business of running his empire. Rey tries not to miss him, which is helped by the fact that Maz demands her attention over everything. She expresses her dislike of the palace and flirts with their escort of Imperial Guards and tells the courtisans’ wives as they pass that she can teach them how to keep their husbands satisfied.

Somehow they make it back unscathed to the knights’ quarters. Rey shows Maz the room she has chosen and finds Ben’s gloves left on a table. Maz picks them up and tries them on. "Big hands. You lucky girl." What the kriff is Rey going to do about dinner?

There are other things to discuss first. A droid brings them lunch and once they are settled by a fire (Rey still always feels the cold), she brings up the topic of the Resistance.

"How’s Leia?"

"I do not know. But I met your ex-stormtrooper friend."

"Finn?" It has been so long. Just saying his name has Rey on the brink of tears. "Is he okay? Did you meet Rose?"

"Wonderful girl. I told him to marry her. But he was more interested in learning how to find those who are Force-sensitive."

"What do you mean?"

"What I said. But I told him no."

"They’re trying to find new Jedi?" Rey thinks about what it would mean to Ben. Kylo Ren. Jedi killer. "Please don’t tell me anymore."

"My girl, you are not the first and you will never be the last. And Jedi is just a fad. It will fade, just like the Sith and all those other nonsense ideas. The Force comes in too many guises. It is life and it is death. It is in everything. I told him so. I said, why not your friend? She could be."

Finn did not stay long and not too long after Maz struck out in retaliation for the attack on her castle, declaring Takodana an enemy of the First Order. It at least took the heat off her union dispute. (It also provided the Resistance a much-needed diversion.)

All Maz knows is Leia is safe. They have not been in direct contact. Finn had not heard from Leia either, other than to know she was released in exchange for a special prisoner. Rey wonders if his obsession with recruiting others gifted with the Force is driven by helping her out. Does he understand? Would he risk trying to save her?

What exactly would he be saving her from?

Dinner, Rey thinks, and makes the mistake of telling Maz about Ben’s offer.

"You must go," Maz says.

"But you just got here."

"And I will still be here when you get back."

"I can’t," Rey says.

"Why not?"

"It feels too soon." Not soon enough. She doesn't trust herself. All the feelings inside her. Her heart has been so traitorous of late. She misses him. It never goes. That longing in the Force. It could be so easy if only—

"Stop fighting this!" Maz jumps on the table and waves one of Ben’s giant gloves in her face. "Besides," she swats Rey on the nose, "we need you."

"You need me."

"You have seen the Light that lives inside him. It falls to you to bring it out."

Rey remembers Snoke's throne room. She remembers their terrible argument the morning after the vision. "I've tried. He's not ready. Or maybe he never will be." She remembers what she has seen inside him. His easy power over death. There are parts of him she knows that belong to the Darkness.

"There are parts of everyone," Maz says. She has jumped from the table and is making her way towards Rey’s wardrobe. "We are neither all bad nor all good." She looks back at Rey. "Rumor has it that you've quite a bit of a temper yourself. Finding the Light does not mean it eradicates everything else." She reaches the wardrobe and pulls open the doors. "It simply means that it is the voice by which you are led. And I am telling you, young Solo is ready." Her body disappears inside as she begins sifting through Rey’s clothes.

"What are you doing?"

A dress flies out. Then another. Soon most of the wardrobe’s contents are piled on the floor.

"This won't do," Maz says, re-emerging to survey the carnage. "I need something more…" she gestures toward her bosom.

"What are you talking about?"

"You need to make a statement at dinner."

It takes Rey much too long to realize Maz means not what she says but what she wears.

At the dawn of understanding, Rey contacts Selena. They have not spoken since Rey went to see the Force healer but her friend’s voice is warm and sounds so happy to hear from her. The call is hijacked by Maz, who gives rather precise specifications of what dress Rey’s statement requires.

"I've got the perfect thing."

Selena hangs up and appears at Rey’s door in less than an hour. A droid is sent to the Emperor to convey a simple message: I accept your invitation. Rey’s transformation then begins.

In the process, Maz and Selena become fast friends. Selena has clearly heard of the notorious pirate and does not tire of hearing all Maz’s anecdotes; she even offers to keep Maz company while Rey is with Ben. Rey can only stand and be tinkered with like a malfunctioning droid. It seems to take an inordinate amount of time to put on a dress and do one’s hair and allow one’s face to be painted, Rey thinks. But she knows it is not only her exterior that is changing.

She stands on the threshold, and she is ready.

Maz walks with her into the small courtyard in the knights’ quarters and to the gate that leads to the rest of the palace.

"You are in this place and at this time for a reason," Maz tells her. "The Force has chosen you. It is using you to bring him back to the Light."

"How can you be sure?" Rey shakes her head. "I don’t want to control him."

"My girl." Tiny wrinkled hands grip her own. "This is not about control. What you share with him is wondrous. I have felt it. It was more than I ever expected. Think of the Resistance. Think of everything we have fought for. That boy has the power to destroy it, but he also has the power to set the galaxy free." Her tiny eyes glisten in the starlight with tears.

"Save him, Rey of Jakku. For this is how we win."

* * *

Rey walks the dark halls of the palace. She feels like a child pretending, but she does not look like one. She wraps her fur cloak more tightly about her, worrying about prying eyes, even as she is held by the Force’s impenetrable barrier. She feels exposed. She feels nervous. She feels a high that is hard to describe.

She walks past the doors to her old rooms. Walks past the corridor that leads to Alec's chambers. She wonders about him, but Ben will tell her nothing, just that the mission is secret and it is dangerous. She hopes he comes back safely and soon. But those thoughts are quickly overtaken as she reaches the highest point of the palace. A set of carved ebony doors are before her. Imperial Guards flank each side. They do not bar her way; she is as familiar to them now as the Emperor himself.

They bow and step aside. Rey knocks tentatively on the door. In seconds it has opened.

"You came."

Ben says it as if he does not believe it. He shows her inside, into the massive antechamber, with its multiple groups of seating and two fireplaces and endless dark, lacquered walls. There is a table laid out near the smaller fireplace; she can see their dinner waiting. She can see a set of double doors in the far wall left open. She cannot see his bed, but she knows it is there.

Ben looks at her with an unfathomable expression; the energy radiating off him feels almost anxious. He looks beautiful, she thinks. Raven-haired, pale skinned, and covered from head to toe in black. He wears no cape tonight. Just his tunic and pants and boots. Not even his saber is belted to his side. His eyes are soft when they look at her.

"May I take your cloak?" She smiles; years of politeness in his mother's household will never leave him. She turns and shrugs out of her fur, he takes it off her shoulders, and the air feels cool against her skin. She turns around, and his breath catches. She thought she might surprise him, but his face is something else entirely.

Selena has outdone herself tonight, loaning her a dress that she had just finished, a design she had been working on in her spare time. It is long. It is red. Its hugs Rey’s body like a lover. The bodice is a corset in deep crimson, made from animal hide and laced tightly down her back. It makes her waist look tiny. It makes her breasts look full. She is bare from her neck to the top of her shoulders. Instead of wrappings, her arms are encased in tight leather sleeves, matching the crimson of the corset, coming down to a point over each wrist and leaving her fingers free. The skirt is not leather but unlike the dresses she usually wears, it is fitted, hugging her hips and backside and legs as it tapers to the floor. There is a black design upon the red fabric, but she thinks Ben does not notice. He is too busy staring at her chest.

He visibly shakes himself. Rey smiles. She blushes too, but there is power in the way she has made him look at her, and she likes it. She wants more.

"I may have overdressed," she says.

He takes another long sweep of her body, she thinks he cannot help himself, before his eyes come back to hers. "You are perfect." She feels a wave of lust come off him before he quickly tamps it down. He knows that she has felt it however, and his own cheeks become tinged pink. It seems she has finally managed to ruffle the Emperor's stoic calm.

He gestures toward their table. There are no servants; everything has already been prepared. The food is simple: fish, beautifully cooked, a tray of vegetables and grains, another of cheese and fruit. They drink a wine made from berries pressed after they have frozen on the vine; the flavor is sweet and strong. She has a second glass and then a third.

The world is perfect and they are perfect. He makes her laugh and she does the same for him, telling him how Maz rearranged the knight's barracks within fifteen minutes of her being there, how she ransacked Rey's room, how she has already claimed the biggest refresher. He tells her stories of when he would visit her castle with his father. The shadow of Han falls between them but she feels Ben take the memory and examine it only curiously; there is no anger or haste to throw it away. She reaches out a hand to touch his and she knows. You miss him. You are sorry. She lets him feel her sorrow too.

Afterwards, they sit on the sofa before the fire. He does not hold her, but she wants him to. She is so aware of his body that her skin crawls at his nearness. She thinks of his bed, so close. What seems a lifetime ago that she was here. What should be an unhappy memory. With the glow of candles, it feels like a different place. She is no longer afraid. She wants to lie in his bed again, but she doesn't want to be alone. She remembers the things he did to her—in the rainforest, on the _Falcon_ —and she wants to feel herself come undone under him again.

Her thoughts must be loud because he stops mid-sentence.

"I'm sorry," she stammers.

"No. Please. Gods." His eyes briefly close, and she wants to climb on top of him. Any longer and she will.

Rey stands up. "I should probably go."

"Wait. There's something I wanted to give you." He stands too and goes to his desk, removing a box from a drawer. "There was a trade delegation here from Naboo. You might not remember since you were falling asleep at the time." He smiles as he sees her embarrassment. "You didn’t miss much. But you know how they always like to bring gifts."

Rey does. She's had to sit through so many meetings now, mindless protocols with endless exchanges of useless trinkets. A week before, there had been a small party from the ice planet Hoth who had gifted the Emperor with a crate of freeze-dried spear-antlered moose meat.

"Please tell me that's not moose meat," she says.

He laughs as he comes to stand before her. Then he opens the box, and Rey gasps.

It is a necklace. The most beautiful necklace she has ever seen. It is a chain of flowers rendered in white and yellow shimmering stones, with green boa-emeralds for leaves and tiny orcha-rubies for centers. She didn't know things this beautiful could exist.

"It was my grandmother's," Ben says. "She was born on Naboo and served as their queen for a time. The delegation had found a collection of her jewelery in the planet's archives and they gave it to me. And when I saw it, I… I wanted to give it to you."

She cannot speak.

"Please," he says. "It is something from my family. What little there is left of it."

She touches the stones with trembling fingers. Ben takes off his gloves so he can remove it from the box and place it around her neck. He has her stand in front of a mirror. She watches as he fastens the clasp. It is beautiful. He is beautiful. She wants to cry.

"Thank you," she manages. "I have never had such a precious gift."

His hands come to rest on her shoulders. Nor I. He speaks his thoughts to her in the bridge between their minds.

She takes one of his hands and kisses it. There are no words left to say so she doesn't bother to use them.

Take me to the balcony.

He frowns. After what happened before?

I'm not scared. Not with you.

He leads her out. The planet is a blaze of light before them. It is beautiful. She feels no fear. They do not speak, and she is so content in this moment. She feels Ben behind her. His hands come around her waist to pull her back against him. She rests there willingly. She never wants to leave.

"I nearly lost you," he says. "I have rarely stepped out here since that night."

"But you saved me."

"I will always save you." She feels him hold her tighter. "Do the voices still come?"

"No," she says.

"I have been working in the library. It is completely silent when I am down there."

"Nobody likes to talk to you."

She knows he smiles. "I only like to talk to you." He holds her still, and they fall silent once more.

Can we stay like this forever? she thinks.

We can do anything you want.

Anything? Rey thinks of Maz and Leia and Finn and Rose. All her friends trying to make a better future. They could make a better one too. Starting now. There is nothing they cannot do together.

She speaks her thoughts out loud. She cannot help it. "There is so much Light in you, Ben. I can feel it. These past few days, the way you have cared for me. You have so much goodness. Why do you fight it?"

His body turns rigid. "Fight it?"

Rey turns to face him. "Think of what we could do together."

He looks at her blankly. "We are together."

"No, I mean to help—to help everything. We could tear down the First Order, just like you said. No more battles, no more wars."

Ben steps back. "So that's what this is about."

She feels momentarily disoriented. "What is what about?"

"Dinner. The dress. Did Maz put you up to this? Or was the idea yours?"

"What idea?"

His face twists into something ugly. "To seduce me back to the Light. Literally, it seems." He rubs a hand over his face. "What a fool I am."

His words sting. They leave bloody marks. Her temper roars to life. "You think I am trying to manipulate—"

"I know you are!" His voice cuts like a dagger. She can feel his anger; enough to match her own. "I am not trying to turn you, so do not try to turn me. I showed you who I am. I didn't hide anything. Why is it not enough? Why must I change? You are just the same as my family—"

"But you know what is right!" She is unraveling inside. Everything she believes in, everything she is. "Subjugating everything in existence is not what is right!"

"I thought you understood—"

She closes in on him. The anger she has felt since Han, since Starkiller, since the throne room—it all comes forth with terrifying clarity. "You want acceptance from me to continue your sin. You want absolution, but you ask for no forgiveness."

"And what would you have me do? Let the galaxy crumble? There would be endless war. Death unimaginable. You would be hunted down. You and all your friends."

Her anger is deafening. Everything she has held in comes pouring out. "You wanted me. And so you took me. Never thinking about what I might desire. About what I might want. Did you ever think I might have chose to come?"

"You didn't want me. I had to give you another reason—"

"I want you more than anything! I hate myself for it. The only thing I withhold from you is the one thing I have left."

"Your body? It seems to be up for negotiation now."

"My self-respect."

This shakes him. She can see it. She has finally landed a blow. Her voice shakes too. "You do not get to have me in every way. You have my company. You have my mind. You have my loyalty as your Confessor. You have my love despite everything. But you do not get to have _me_. Ben, stop this! You once said you wanted to let it all die—then do it! Leave here and I will leave with you tonight. But you won't. You can't. The power, you love it too much. The Darkness. You cannot relinquish control—"

"—And you would seek to control me! Why must you place conditions upon your love? I have lived under two masters already. I will not suffer another."

"I do not ask to be your master—"

"But you would make me your slave. You would ask me to be something I am not."

"Why must your freedom require me to be in a cage?"

"Then go." His eyes are burning. "I will not hold you against your will. If you want to stay, then stay for me. Otherwise you are free to do as you please."

Rey feels fear. She has provoked him. She has gone too far. "You would harm them—you would break your word—"

"I would never break my word to you."

"You want me to go?" she says, her voice like a child’s.

"No." His eyes are pleading. "But I would not have you stay. Not with the poison of your resentment. All I have wanted is to carry your pain. To remove your burdens."

She reaches out to him. She places her hands upon his chest. "Ben, there must be a better way. There must be a path—"

"Whatever path we take, we will always be tied to each other."

She pushes him hard, and he budges only slightly. "You think I don't know that?" Tears spill freely; she has never cried this much for another (not even her parents). He studies her, and his face reveals nothing.

"I cannot deviate from what I have chosen. I have seen the danger that lies in inaction. We are close to making something better. We are so close. Do you know the court would have me marry one of their simpering noblewomen just to make peace?"

Pain strikes down to her very core. Rey staggers back. "Why do you tell me this? To punish me? You cannot make things better. Not like this. You can only build another cage."

"Rey—"

"No."

She leaves him on the balcony and flees inside, making it as far as the antechamber before he catches up. She steals herself for harsh words but instead she is whirled around by strong hands and pressed against a wall. He kisses her—a kiss borne of rage and of passion and of such longing that she cannot breathe. She cannot move. She cannot do anything but kiss him back. He is everywhere, kissing her face, her neck, the top of her breasts. Her body is a traitor; her voice whispers his name. He holds her to him with an iron will. He finds her lips again and drinks from them; Rey fears there will be nothing left. At last he breaks away. His chest labors with each breath. His eyes are as black as the void of space. His voice is low and dark.

"If you want to leave, then leave. But you will never be free. I will always be your monster." He rubs his thumb across her lower lip, slides down and wraps long fingers around her throat. He is so close, the words touch her skin:

"And I will never change."

Ben lets go. Rey runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> 1\. Yes, Rey's red dress is based on the black leather corset dress Padme wore in Episode II, minus the choker/scarf thing.
> 
> 2\. The moose meat reference is a total West Wing shoutout. ;)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Guys, I continue to be blown away by all the awesome feedback. We are all aboard the angst train once more, next stop Ben figuring out his way on the road to redemption. This chapter is entirely brought to you by Rian Johnson’s recent amazing Q&A and the song Rennen by SOHN (lol I just noticed the Ren in the title there; I am fail).
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy! Now please prepare for pain. <3

"Freely we serve,  
Because we freely love"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

I did this all for you, he thinks. From the moment their hands touched, he knew what their destiny would be.

When she delivered herself to him and they were summoned to Snoke’s throne room. When she cornered him with her body and her eyes and her words. When she called him by a name and he remembered. He knew.

I betrayed my world for you.

He would kill his master. He would not leave that throne room with her gone and Snoke crowing and claiming that he had taken another step on the bloody path to ultimate power. It is not about power. It is about _her_. Does she even understand? Does she not see? What is her vision? Her body laid out for him and the glow of imaginary light?

There is no call. She does not understand. There will never be a Jedi Ben Solo. There will never be a wholly pure and good and faultless boy. He is all things and he is nothing. He is a fool to the idea that she could accept him as he is.

Not anymore.

He wants to destroy all the remnants of their dinner. He wants to chase after her into the night and take her in the blackness and make her feel all the things that are boiling inside him. He loves her. He loves her with a sickness, a delirium; the madness of a rabid hound. He would burn every star and swallow every planet. He would lay the universe at her feet. He would obliterate every one of her enemies.

He is feverish in his disease. There is no real will to destroy. There is a hurt, the wound that he scratches and cuts and lets fester, that has always been there. He has known only punishment. He has felt scant reward.

He goes to the library, and he picks up Plagueis’ skull. It crumbles in the grip of his fingers. There is no noise except the crumbling. No voice. No release.

Your fingers are inside me, he thinks. Just like this.

He waits in the library. He does not sleep. He thinks he hallucinates the sound of her tears.

In the morning, he trains too hard. He breaks the skin of his knuckles. He breaks the arm of a guard. He showers and spits blood and watches it swirl down the drain. He eats very little. He sits at his desk and contacts Malaak. _Return at once._ He will place that conniving little pirate under permanent house arrest.

He does not hear from Alec. He does not think what it means. There is only fear, the loudest noise. Fear of what he is losing. Fear of the misguidedness of his dream.

Snoke’s voice echoes cruelly. Did you kill your true enemy?

Yes. A million times yes. I would kill you again and again. I would kill you without her. I would crush my fingers through your misshapen skull into your brain.

I would kill it all. But she won’t let me.

_Rey._

He ignores all the planned meetings. He informs his staff via droid that he will work undisturbed. He will only allow an interruption of the utmost urgency. He drinks caf and reads. The Basic symbols merge into binary. He cannot concentrate. He cannot think. He cannot breathe.

There is a knock at the door.

"What is it?!"

She enters.

"What are you doing here?"

"My Lord." She looks as pale and unrested as him. Dressed in that gross facsimile of Jedi garb. At her throat he sees the necklace. "I am still your Confessor," she says.

"You have heard all my words."

"I will not leave you."

"Then that shall be your mistake."

She takes her seat by his side. He calls for his aides and they discuss all the issues he has tried to ignore. Not the issues he carries. The Empire’s problems seem infinitesimal to him. But he can endure their smallness. He can endure her. Poison in every heartbeat. He can endure her forever.

Rey. Darling Rey. What do you want from me?

He is loud, so loud, much louder than he has ever been. He feels her eyes casting over him. The brazen statement of her necklace. Is it a slave collar now? Is that what my gift means to you?

She shows him a memory. Of her scavenging in the highest heat, climbing into the most dangerous places. How she crawled and fought, ripped clothes and lacerated skin, to find the most hidden treasures. And they were always damaged. Dirty. To any first glance it would seem that she had risked her life for trash. But she would drag it back through the desert, tie it to the transporter she had made herself—she knew how to salvage things; to bring back anything to order. She would sit, caked in sand and blood, and scrub away, pick apart and tinker, put the object back together into something of value, even as the sun burned her and her hands turned raw.

I did not give up on anything, she tells him. Her words are soothing, and it hurts.

I do not deserve—

No. But it isn’t about what we deserve.

You, he thinks; he knows. His unworthiness is silent. There is a vacuum in his throat. There is a shield in his mind that will hide the thoughts he is most ashamed of. Everything you said. Everything.

He grants a private audience to Wylde. That does not mean that he is alone. She stays. He keeps her there, and she does not question him. Unwavering and loyal. Precious and devoted. She must remind him of all he cannot be.

Wylde enters and balks at the presence of the Confessor. The man wears a high-necked collar to hide the bruises of large fingers. Does she know what he did? Is she repulsed by the evidence of more of his cruelty?

Wylde stops before the desk. Rey stands to the Emperor’s right.

"My Lord," he says, "have you had time to consider," here the odious man touches his neck and coughs slightly, "what we previously discussed?"

"Perhaps you could refresh my memory."

Wylde glances to Rey and Kylo wills him through the Force to keep his eyes only on him. "As you wish." He proudly addresses his Emperor: "It was the idea of a happy union. Something agreeable to you and the planets. If you make the right choice and take the right bride, I envision there will be no future rebellion."

Something in Rey rebels. Kylo can feel it. She cannot let go. He reaches out. "Explain."

"Unite the galaxy, my Lord. Take a wife who can ensure future peace. Provide an heir who can continue it."

A tray of cups vibrates. How he wants to soothe her the way she can soothe him. He is selfish. He wants her here, even as she quietly hurts. The one he cannot have. The one who cannot conceive; does not conceive of ruling with him while knowing who he is.

Is this the right thing? he thinks.

No!

Tell me. Tell me how I help the galaxy.

Do not ask this of me.

Kylo wonders about duty. About faith. About love. Does he hurt her by keeping her here? Yet she will not go. She will not take him but she will not leave him. A damaged piece of scrap she thinks she can salvage. Is this love? Is that what he deserves? I cannot abide to see you suffer. Even for me. Especially me. He thinks on all her words. I am not Light. I will not turn. But I can change; I think you have changed me already. I think I understand now. I know what I must do.

"How soon can it be arranged?"

"Within a week," Wylde says.

Every cup rattles then shatters upon the tray.

* * *

He does not see her for two days. Perhaps she has made the decision for him. But he feels her presence in the palace. Locked away. Hidden from him. He wonders why she does not leave. He imagines being in her place and the devastation he would wreak. But on the third, she returns. Standing at the door to his quarters. Barely dawn. She is dressed in brown pants and a grey tunic, hair tied back in those idiosyncratic three buns. Staff in hand, she asks him for training.

"Why?"

"I have not fought since…" She means their time in the jungle, a forgotten paradise; it is hell to remember it. He must deny her, but she insists. "I have no one else."

"I will not hold back," he tells her.

She almost smiles when she says, "Finally."

So they train. They spar. They leave each other bloody. He no longer relies on the Imperial Guards. There is only Rey and her desert roar and the unrefined violence he will hone. He will polish until she is a killer. She can kill him then if she so chooses. She can do anything she wants to him.

The movements of her body plague him. He drinks her in. She lands hits in all his lapses in concentration. She is smiling. Always smiling. There is sadness when she speaks, but how she laughs when she can better him. You will miss this, she tells him. Can we do this when you are taken? When you are husband to someone else?

He parries hard, hard enough that she loses her footing. He is upon her, bare chest to her sweat-slicked skin.

I will miss everything, he thinks.

You don’t have to do this.

I do. You have shown me. I do. You are free.

He shows her what the idea of marriage means to him:

His parents arguing. His father walking out. His mother crying in secret and Kylo hearing it through the Force. Their overly enthusiastic make-ups. The awkward dinners. The snide remarks. The sense that the small boy sitting between them was the source of their discord.

His grandparents surviving for even less. Burning too bright. Burning apart.

You are free, he tells her.

But she is in his head. In his eyes. In his ears. In every waking thought and agonizing dream. He smells her as he breathes. He feels her in the morning when the sunlight floods his chambers. After the rains when the plants in the garden seem most alive. In the messy crumbs left on a plate after eating. In the memory of his hands and how he could feel everything his touch of her elicited.

A week of this. A week of unbearable torture. A whole week of planning for a grand, wretched gala. He is taught the guest list, learns brief and inconsequential biographies of faceless girls who mean nothing but hollow titles, yet who somehow offer a chance for peace (for her). He is measured for a suit to be tailored. The tailor is a woman, who radiates an unplaced sense of loathing. It is personal. He has never met her before. He slips into her mind out of a bored curiosity.

Rey. She knows Rey. And she knows something of the hurt he has caused her. And this woman hates him for it.

The woman pauses in her sketching. She presses a hand to her head. Kylo stops his delving.

"Do you clothe anyone else?" he says. "In the palace?"

"Yes." The woman does not wish to give him more than the tersest of answers. He knows her name is Selena, but he has not asked her out loud.

"Anyone I know?"

She stares at him in anger and bites her tongue out of fear.

"My Confessor wears many beautiful dresses. Have you designed for her?"

Selena looks pained. She will not respond.

"Whoever is behind her clothes does an exquisite job."

"My Lord." Selena rises and collects her things. "I shall have a prototype ready for your fitting tomorrow."

"Thank you." Kylo walks her to the door. "What is your name?"

"Selena, my Lord. Selena Perceval."

"Selena, would you consider dressing my Confessor for the gala?"

"Yes, my Lord."

He has gone too far.

* * *

She should have stayed home.

There is a roaring fire in her chambers. There is Maz, with a crate of whiskey (and a barrelful of unspoken apologies), there is Selena with no shortage of indignation on her behalf, and there is even Malaak, brought back from the Mid-Rim territories to become Maz's jailer, who glances at Rey with pity as she leaves.

"You don't have to go," he mumbles is his distinctive gravelly timbre. "You could stay here and get your arse kicked at dejarik."

"Some other night," Rey tells him, though there is no humor in her voice.

The gala is a spectacle, the most extraordinary spectacle Rey has ever seen. It is held in a wing of the palace she never knew existed, in a hall of gold and mirrors, a thousand candles providing the light. Hundreds are present, each more beautifully attired than the last. Colorful peacocks and yet she is colorless. She wears gray, an ethereal creation made by Selena just for the occasion. The cloth is a thin film the color of smoke. It gathers tightly at her waist, layers upon layers of it, wound about her torso in intricately braided fashion. The skirt is full and moves like a cloud around her. She wears his necklace. It is a punishment. A reminder of all she cannot have.

I chose to stay, she thinks; I did not choose this.

And the one she stays for? He sits on his throne surveying everything. His tunic is embroidered with gold braid. He wears a blood-red sash with several ceremonial medals upon it. His cape is lined with the same blood red, and there are gold epaulets upon each shoulder.

He looks so handsome she cannot stand it, and there is a voice inside her head growing more loud and uncontrolled with every minute. He should have been yours. You fool—you fool! He looks bored and pissed off. She can relate. But this is a mess he has made. (You made, the voice says. It would have been so easy to fix.)

A courtier asks her to dance. She does. He is married to the redhead Rey dislikes so much. But somehow the petty act does not make her feel better. She dances with an officer, then a member of the trade delegation from a planet she can't even remember. Whomever asks, she will dance. She senses an annoyance that quickly turns to anger. It comes from the direction of the royal dais. It is the first thing to make her feel better.

She dances again. A younger, handsomer partner this time. The anger grows brighter. She gives her partner a smile, and she feels a terrifying wave of jealousy from across the room. She smiles again. The jealousy grows. It is the only caress left to her.

The music stops. There is a speech delivered to commemorate the recent victory, and Hux is again honored. Then even he is shuffled aside for the more important matters of state. Presentations. Wave upon wave of delegations line up. From every corner of the galaxy they have brought their wares. Women. Mostly young, some beautiful, all with birth and breeding and riches. With political connections to soothe a fledgling empire. With bodies to provide heirs.

Wylde is in his element tonight. This is his brainchild, his pet project. He will secure his prosperity by securing that of the emperor he serves.

He comes to stand beside Rey. They watch as each lady is presented. Each one approaches. Each one bows. Ben does not move. He makes no acknowledgement, save for the lightest of nods. Rey holds tightly to this small comfort. Wylde is talking to her. He gives a running commentary. Too poor. Too stupid. Too taken with other girls. He seems as hard to impress as the Emperor himself.

It is almost over now, and Rey thinks she might survive, when Wylde nudges her.

"That's it," he whispers in dramatic sotto voce. "That's the one."

'It' is a woman; Rey cannot see her. Not until the crowd moves, and an indrawn breath is taken in unison.

She is tall. She is slender. She wears a gown of icy blue. Her hair is so pale as to almost be silver; it is braided with jewels and hangs to her waist. She draws closer. Her face is delicately proportioned but her lips are full and her eyes are the same luminous blue of her gown. It is as if a moon is walking in their midst.

"They're distant cousins," Wylde says. "Her grandfather was Alderaanian, you know."

Rey does not. She does not know anything. But for the first time she sees that Ben's attention is taken. He looks up, considers. He stands. Every eye in the room is upon them now. He is stepping down from his dais. He speaks words to the woman. Rey cannot hear them. Ben nods, and the woman smiles.

Rich as a Hutt, Wylde is saying, with enough connections to make both the Core and Mid-Rim territories fall easily into line. He gives a disbelieving laugh. It is said that even the Emperor's mother approves of this one. Wylde has received assurances from the most secret channels that the Resistance would be willing to negotiate should the Emperor entertain her suit.

"Peace in our time," Wylde says, mostly to himself.

Rey does not hear anymore. Her focus is only on him. Ben. Please, Ben. Is this what you think will free me from you? She cannot hear his thoughts, but she looks at him and she knows. She knows.

This is the one he will marry.

The light leaves Rey's eyes. The air leaves her lungs. She walks away from the crowd, escaping like smoke. Her walk becomes a run. She pays no attention to where she goes. She only knows that she must escape. He has released her fully. She cannot stay. She is not strong enough for this.

She is running through a maze of hallways. There are no people now. There is no air. She searches for an exit, just a sliver to the outside she can crawl through, the same way she fought through wrecks to escape.

She is in an opulent purple corridor. The walls are lined by curtains, and she claws through them until she stumbles at last through a set of hidden doors.

The cool air of the Coruscant night embraces her. The planet lays before her sight. She walks out to meet it. Her hands feel cool marble railings underneath, and she grips them tightly. There is a long drop below. Where is Plagueis? Why must he now be silenced? She needs him to tell her how pointless this is. To remind her that she in nothing. To help her end this pain. Where are you? she thinks bitterly. Why can’t I hear you?

Something shifts in the air. The movement of a door opening and closing. Someone is here. Ben? She searches for his signature, but it is a vain hope. This presence in the Force is unknown to her, dark and strangely turbulent. She has never felt this type of power before.

She can sense its concern.

"Who's there?" she says. "Show yourself."

The presence does. It is a man. He is dressed in black. Rey can barely see him, just a faint outline and his eyes, pale and gold. Eyes that seem to glow. Eyes she thinks beautiful.

The light alters, and she can see his face now. A lovely face. A familiar face; it regards her with a sad and playful smile.

"I thought we had agreed—no more balconies."

Alec has come home.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OMG, Y'ALL. OMG. The response to the last chapter was overwhelming and amazing, and idek how to thank everyone. And I'm sorry for killing some of you. And for the tears. And alcohol. And ice cream. That comment situation nearly destroyed me in the best possible way. So please allow me to give you a most humble thanks for your amazingness in the form of Ch 20...
> 
> ...in which words are said and Sith boyfriends behave badly. (And then much better.)

"When night  
Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons  
Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

As soon as he enters atmosphere, Alec can feel her.

She is a fixed point of light, a beacon that only he can see. The Darkness within him growls, but he soothes its ruffled feathers. He is growing used to its hunger. He pulls it back.

He programs the controls of Hux's shuttle and cloaks its presence. He sets down inside the palace walls on an unused landing strip. The red dirt of Moraband still cakes his skin. Blood still sticks to his robes.

Yellow shrouds his vision.

It is different with these eyes. It is not bad; in many ways, he sees better than ever before. He can see with the Force, see past things and through things and into their very nature. His eyes have become sensors and scopes and finely honed blades. They are still too sensitive to the light.

And yet, he misses his old eyes. He remembers the feel as the color bled out of them, down his cheeks and onto the black cloth of his tunic; a stain that will never show. They said it was necessary and he does not argue; he did not argue with anything. Not when they burned him, not when they threatened to rend his soul apart. Only once did he say stop and it wasn't about him. It is about the one he seeks now.

There is a gathering tonight. He can feel the masses herded like cattle. They move in patterns; grains of sand blown by the wind. They are insignificant, they are inconsequential. There is only her.

A wing of the palace is lit like fire. He heads in that direction, cloaked by the Force, completely invisible. He has always been good at concealment, but with the training of the old Lords, his gift has been perfected. He is a wraith, a dangerous flickering shadow.

It is a party. A grand spectacle. He feels a frisson of fear; a happy occasion? An engagement? (A wedding?) His mind runs wild. He forces himself to read the emotions. Excitement, anticipation. He forces himself to read her and finds only loss.

He should not feel such joy. Where is she?

He finds a narrow gallery that allows him to survey the ballroom below. His _brother_ sits upon a throne. He is alone, and his irritation is palpable, even from this distance. A throng of faceless bodies surround the dais, Hux amongst them (Alec has not missed him).

A scent drifts through the Force, and Alec follows it. A movement from behind column. There. There she is. A creation of smoke and vapor. The most beautiful woman of all. He drinks in the sight of her and his heart is lifted that she is safe and well. I won't leave you again, he thinks.

A man asks her to dance, and she does. (The man is not the Emperor.) Another asks, and she dances again. A handsomer one this time. She accepts and smiles at him. A wave of jealousy surges through Alec, slipping through the bonds of his concealment. He thinks that she smiles again.

The dancing stops. A man honors Hux; the general is beaming. But too soon he is swept aside and a line of women come forward. This is new. Alec sifts through the minds of the crowd. The Emperor's is carefully guarded, but he gets the gist from everyone else. It is a presentation, an offering of sorts. The Emperor has decided to marry.

He watches Rey watch them. He feels her quiet pain. Feels her stoic determination but then…

There is another. More beautiful than the rest. The Emperor rises. The Emperor speaks to her.

Pain rips through Alec. Rey's is heart breaking. She is coming undone. He can feel _her_.

When she runs, Alec follows.

Away from the ballroom, down a series of dark corridors. She does not know where she goes. He sees a purple hallway; she is clawing through draperies until she finds escape. What are you doing? It is all too familiar. He runs to catch up.

He passes through doors just closed. He sees her, standing near the edge of a balcony. Looking down. Is it that bad already? He hurts for her; he hurts so much. The Darkness bristles at the empathy inside him, but Alec subdues it. Pain is strength, he reminds it. The Dark subsides, but the turbulence remains. He uses it to reach out and protect her. He will not let her fall.

She has sensed him. She turns. "Who's there? Show yourself."

He steps out of the shadows. "I thought we agreed—no more balconies."

Her breath is a gasp. Her smile is fire on his skin. That look is worth everything. He would have endured far worse just to have her look at him again.

She walks towards him quickly, and her hands are upon him. "Alec!"

Say it again.

"Alec, you're here." Strong arms wrap around him. Her light frame pressed to his. I have missed this, he thinks. Rey pulls back. She examines him. She touches his face.

"Your eyes. What happened?" She looks so worried. "Are you in pain?"

"It is nothing," he says and feels her concern grow. She strokes his cheeks, as if she can see the tracks of bloody tears, as if she can feel what was lost. Touch me more, he thinks. The Darkness is soothed by her presence.

"Alec," she holds his face between her hands. "Where _were_ you?"

* * *

She leads him from the balcony; it is cold and she no longer wants to stay in that setting. She is glad for the warmth of indoors and the chance of somewhere private. She finds a set of doors along the purple hallway and a room beyond that will suffice. The room they enter is purple as well; darker, with a fire lit in its stone hearth. A sitting room of some sort. Rey vaguely wonders how many such rooms there are. She sits on a sofa positioned close to the fire. Alec sprawls in a high-backed chair. His posture is loose and reckless as always, but there is something in his face—she feels he has seen too much.

"Alec?"

His eyes lock on hers. No longer that startling blue, they glow a strange golden color. She knows instantly that this shade was acquired, not created. It does not take scrolls of parchment to figure out that it represents a technique of the Dark Side.

She senses it all over him. She feels the Dark, but she is not afraid.

"You must tell me everything," she says. "You were gone when I woke."

His face turns grim. "There is good reason for that."

They hear footsteps, and what happens next happens so quickly Rey is scrambling to keep up. Alec is on his feet in a defensive stance, saber ignited, ready to face whatever is coming. A red beam cuts through the door, and it is sliced in half. The rest is kicked in. Ben stands on the other side, looking like Death itself.

"REY!"

He sees her and then he sees her companion. Red sabers clash. Alec reacts quickly, ducking what would have been a killing blow and sending his chair into Ben's side with a wave of the Force. Rey can only watch in disbelief as Ben fights back, viciously so. It is distinctly different from when they spar together; now he aims to draw blood. Alec lands a glancing hit to his shoulder. Ben slices off a piece of Alec's tunic in return. Their strikes become more savage, more intimate, more vengeful.

"What are you doing?!"

They do not hear her for they are lost to their rage. Sabers forgotten, they brawl with their fists. Ben lands a punch that causes Alec's head to snap to the side. Alec returns the favor with a harsh kick to Ben's ribs. His fist cracks against Ben’s cheek as the larger man folds almost double. It is followed by a roar as Ben’s arms reach around Alec’s waist and lift him clean off the floor. His body is slammed onto a table; wood splinters beneath. Alec blocks Ben’s punch and retaliates with a strike to his already bruised ribs. Ben head-butts him. Both their faces are bloody as they wrestle on the ground. They want pain; they want mutual destruction. They will not be satisfied until one of them is dead.

Rey reaches for her own saber, but it is not with her. Stupid gown, she thinks. Stupid Jedi. She concentrates the Force in her chest and through her arms and out of her hands. She spreads each arm out to the side—"ENOUGH!"—and sends each man crashing into a wall.

She has their attention now and sits down. "Tell me what the kriff is going on." Rey gives them a look that promises pain. "If you draw sabers again, I will crush them."

Both men lie slumped in the spot they have landed on either side of the room. Alec's chest is heaving, and it takes a moment for the fight to leave his eyes. At last, he wipes a trail of blood off is face. He gives Ben a bitter smile. "What say you, brother? Shall we cry pax?"

Ben spits red onto the carpet as he talks. "What are you? You left no trace. I felt her, then nothing. I thought that—"

"Thought what? That she was in danger? Or was it an excuse to do something else?"

Ben struggles to his feet. Alec too. Rey snatches their sabers into the air and brings them safely to her hands. She slams each man back against the wall. Alec looks to her.

"You have grown strong, my Lady."

"And impatient. Must I ask again why the Emperor and his most favored knight wish to kill each other?"

_For you._

The thought is not said aloud. She cannot tell which of them it comes from. Maybe both. But this is more. It is something else.

"Explain yourself," she snaps at Ben. She feels Alec's delight at seeing the Emperor treated like an errant schoolboy, but she ignores him.

Ben stays seated on the ground, legs outstretched and arms limp in defeat. "I sent him to Moraband, to gather information. He was supposed to report back. He was supposed to let me know of his progress—"

"I ran into a few complications."

"Moraband…?" Rey says. She has heard this name before. "Is that—?"

"An ancient Sith homeworld." Ben talks to her but watches Alec. "A holy place. The tombs of many dark Lords can be found there."

"It is more than that. Desert heat, volcanic sands. Demons the likes of which have never been seen this side of the galaxy," Alec says, holding Ben’s stare. "So you can understand why I didn't have time to send a report. Not to mention the whole reason for my coming to be there—"

"Do not dare try to twist this!" Ben's temper is well and truly lost now. "I asked and you answered. Do not pretend I acted out of retribution when you were committed to the cause."

"I spent two weeks been tortured by dead Sith! If that's not retribution I don't know what is."

"Tortured?" Rey whispers the word. His eyes. Now she understands. No. No. Alec, you didn't. She wants to cry. She doesn't hide her emotion from either of them. She feels Ben's jealousy like a viper; Alec's triumph as a purring lion.

"You should have left," she says. "You should have gotten out."

Alec looks at her and shakes his head. "I had a mission and I completed it."

"The cost was too great." She mourns his beautiful eyes. The Force around Ben is vibrating.

"It was nothing, my Lady. I would do it again. And let us not forget the manner by which I was pressed into service."

"What manner?"

Both turn harsh glares on Ben.

"You asked about the morning I was gone," Alec says. "It was not by choice. His Royal Blamelessness had me drugged, tied up and tossed on a ship to the Outer Rim. I believe the application of Force sleep may have been used too."

Rey recalls how rested she had felt that morning. The cloak tucked snugly around her. The well stoked fire. She stands. "You didn’t!"

"I would do it again!" The force of Ben’s voice is enough that she is almost returned to her seat. "What would you have me do? When I knew his intentions?" He slams a fist to his chest, and she’s reminded of Starkiller when he would strike at his wound.

"You couldn't stand the idea that she might choose—" Alec starts to choke, Ben’s hand stretched out towards him.

"SHE IS MINE!"

"STOP!" Rey pins Ben to the wall. " _She_ is no one’s! _She_ is standing right here."

Alec laughs as he regains his breath. "Apologies, my Lady. The Emperor forgets that his affections are meant to lie elsewhere."

"I will kill you, Magess!"

Rey keeps Ben pinned before he can act on his words. It is a struggle to hold him still, but she also feels no real desire from him to kill the other knight in that moment, at least not in her presence (if he really wanted to, she suspects he could easily break out of her hold). "This is pointless," she says. "You have made your decision." Ben wants to correct her, but the fight goes out of him; she lets him go. "I want to know why you sent Alec to that place. What could have possibly been so important?"

"You," he says. _You you you._ "I did not forget the promise I made: that I would destroy Plagueis. But I could find no answers here. Given that there are over a dozen Sith Lords buried on Moraband, it seemed the logical choice."

"And was it?" Rey says. She tries not to think of the dark figure kneeling at her feet with her hands clasped earnestly in his.

Alec smiles. A genuine smile. It softens even the strangeness of his yellow eyes. "Yes," he says.

Ben stands. "Leave us."

"Who?" Rey says.

"I wish to talk to my erstwhile Confessor."

All three are on their feet now and poised as if ready to fight.

"If you think there is any way I am leaving you two—"

"My Lady?"

Rey looks to the broken doorway. "Selena? What’s wrong?"

* * *

Selena surveys the wreckage of the room. She is hardly ever allowed above stairs, and never without an escort, but desperate times call for desperate measures. She stands in a room the size of the entire saltbox apartment she shares with her husband, Max, and their two small children. It is decorated in purple and gold. It lies in ruins all around her.

She sees the Emperor, bruised and bloodied; it is clear he has been in a fight. The gold trim has been torn off his coat, and an epaulet is missing. Its sash has been sliced in half. Selena feels like crying. Three nights' straight she stayed up to make that beautiful coat.

She sees a knight she remembers sneaking out of the chambers of more than one of her female employers. The most handsome of the knights. The most powerful. His face is bloody now, and his eyes glow a strange gold. He smiles kindly at her, but she feels afraid of him, though she cannot say why.

And then there is her mistress, regal as always, her lovely dress perfectly intact and unharmed. Thank the Gods. Selena does not think she could endure the destruction of two of her creations in one evening.

Not that and this.

She looks to Rey. "You are needed. Maz—"

"Is she hurt?" Selena reads the fear in her mistress's face.

"No, not exactly." She weighs her words. "She and Sir Malaak were playing dijarek and… there was firewhiskey involved. They kept making bets until—" Selena cringes slightly—"she bet Sir Malaak to join her on the roof. They sang for a bit and traded insults, but they were so drunk by then they both passed out. I'm afraid that if they fall—"

"Say no more," Rey says. She looks to the Emperor and his knight. "With me." They follow, and it is a strange and unnerving sight: the two large and bloodied and intimidating men reduced to obedient children at their mistress’s call. Selena does not ask, but she knows there is much more to this story than what she is seeing.

She leads them back to the knights' barracks. This side of the palace is quiet tonight, all of the attention being focused on the east wing and the gala. The guests will be there until dawn, and the servants long after that. Selena knows firsthand. She shows the strange trio her problem, and they understand at once. Maz is snoring loudly and teetering on the edge of the roof, a drop of at least sixty feet below.

"Ben," her mistress says to the Emperor, "if you can guide her, I will catch her."

Selena does not understand what she means until she sees Maz move. She rushes forward, breath filling her lungs to scream, but her mouth will not open. She looks around, panicked; the other knight—Sir Alec she remembers—is smiling again. He presses a finger to his lips.

"Can't afford to wake the place."

Selena is paralyzed of her own volition this time, watching, awestruck as Maz Kanata, the dreaded pirate queen, floats down from a rooftop and lands like a baby in her mistress's arms. Rey carries her inside.

Sir Malaak is another matter entirely. Even with both the Emperor and Sir Alec, they barely manage to levitate him to the ground, and there are quite a few bumps to the drunken body and curses between the two men as they argue and strain to get him to the ground. She has never seen their sorcerers’ powers up close, though they are the subject of many rumors. When the Emperor flicks a wrist and Sir Malaak stands upright like a sleeping toy soldier, she gasps, then quickly covers her mouth. Using nothing but his hand, the Emperor guides him onto the shoulders of Sir Alec, who bows under the weight.

"Use the Force," the Emperor taunts in an old-man voice. "Feel it flow through you."

"You kriffing feel it, you lazy arse." She is not sure which one of them laughs. Alec struggles through the entrance with the Emperor still taunting behind him.

Soon her mistress comes out, and the two men with her. Both the inebriants have been safely tucked into their beds. Rey bids Selena goodnight and thanks, and Selena watches as Sir Alec bends low over her mistress's hand and kisses it.

She glances to the Emperor. He stands rigid with his hands behind his back and a blankness to his expression. He approaches his Lady (is that the right term anymore? So many rumors are already circulating throughout the palace) and gives a formal bow. He whispers words too quiet to hear, and Rey accepts them with a look of sadness. She goes inside, and Sir Alec leaves; the Emperor stays. He watches as a light is lit in Rey’s rooms. He does not move for a long time, and Selena cannot help but watch him.

"Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Perceval." She jumps. She did not realize he was still aware of her presence. He stares up at the light in the window. "I trust that you will tell no one of what you have seen tonight."

"Of course not, my Lord." He studies her mistress's window for a moment longer. Selena thinks he wants to be alone and so she moves to leave.

"Ms. Perceval?"

She stops. "Yes, my Lord?"

He turns to her and frowns. She worries she has displeased him. But she realizes that the frown is not about her but _for_ her. "I am sorry," he finally says. "About the coat." His long fingers hold the ripped gold braid. "I promise to do better next time."

Her eyes sting with inexplicable tears. She gives him a shy smile. "See that you do, my Lord."

He smiles in return and bows. To her. Selena Perceval. A nobody. She watches with disbelief as he turns and disappears into the night with his odd, determined gait.

Selena puts one foot in front of the other, though she hardly registers her own movement. She thinks upon her strange evening. She thinks of what she will tell Max after the children have gone to sleep. She thinks of her mistress and of the two fearsome men who seek her company above all others. She prays they can keep her mistress safe.

As she ponders these things, she wonders if she left Max any bread to eat with his dinner's soup, if she has washed her sons’ robes for the morrow, if there are enough credits to pay the week's grocery bill. She does not see another figure hiding in the dark—smaller, slighter and lighter of foot than the Emperor. She does not see the dark cape flow like liquid, trailing behind soft quiet steps, does not feel the curiosity and satisfaction rippling through the air.

Selena does not sense these things. And she does not see the faint glow of silver hair.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y'all. Y'ALL. Just when I thought the commentpalooza on Friday was a one-off, and that the level of sublime insanity and perfect alignment of stars could never happen again, Saturday happened. And you brought it all over again. And I can tell you honestly that the insight and intelligence you bring blows me away. (And the squee. And the flailing. And the awesome welcoming environment.) And these past two days I've waded into the comments, I've come out with ideas for the next chapter that I can't wait to get down. I totally did not mean to write this so quickly but it was seriously y'all that provided all the inspiration. I hope you like it. Prepare for another Hard Left Turn™.
> 
> (Yes, this chapter is all about the Twinkie.)
> 
> Also HUGE HUGE SHOUTOUT to Melody_Of_The_River for these two amazing photo edits:  
> [here](https://melodyoftheriver.tumblr.com/post/170466026282/the-jedi-killer-and-his-confessor-inspired-by) and [here](https://melodyoftheriver.tumblr.com/post/170484576272/two-sides-of-the-same-coin-lowkey-inspired-by).
> 
> Also also BIG LOVE to aquarianamanda, who did some amazing fan art of Alec, which you can find in the comments to Chapter 20.

"All is not lost; the unconquerable Will,  
And study of revenge, immortal hate,  
And courage never to submit or yield"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

She should have had a blaster.

That is her only thought, a recurring one, as Isolde awakes on Coruscant. Her eyes open to red walls and red curtains and the blood-red sheets of her bed. She stretches and sits up. The light here is not as bright as the multiple suns of her home-world, and there is far less green than Gatalenta would ever allow. She misses the calls of the priestesses to prayer, giving thanks for another day. She misses the peace and tranquility. She misses the simplicity of thought and deed. She misses her aunt's terrible poetry and all her friends. Here there is only noise, there is only avarice, there is only grasping. She is not Force-sensitive, but Isolde can feel Darkness in this place. As if it has saturated every surface and seeped down into the earth. It makes no room for the Light but only chokes it. It feels like suffocation, and she takes a deep breath on instinct.

It was lit by a bad star, Amilyn would say, and Amilyn would of course be right. Amilyn would have had her charts out by now, mapping the local constellations ( _Too close to a dying sun and everything gets pulled off balance—Elsa, pay attention! How else will you ever learn?_ ) She hears Amilyn's laughter, and it makes her throat swell. The thought of her stepmother always brings fresh tears to her eyes. It is too soon, she thinks. She is in mourning. She wants to be left alone. She should have been there; alive or dead, she could have made a difference. She could have done something different. She could have found a way.

She is still so angry at her father.

Amilyn Holdo was his third wife—and the longest lasting in a series of seven (Isolde's current stepmother being new to the position last year). Isolde’s birth mother had been the first to wed Hasran Lin, a princess of Alderaan and a cousin of Senator Bail Organa. "So it will be perfect," Leia told her. When the regal woman Isolde remembered from her childhood once more entered her father's house, she asked Isolde if she wanted to help, and Isolde felt as if a prayer had been answered. She showed Leia the pendant Amilyn had given her. A gift from the last time she had seen her stepmother, just before her twenty-fourth birthday. Leia's eyes filled with tears, and she clasped Isolde's hand. "Wealth and birth will be your entrance," she told her, "and my family’s connection will make you stand out. With the added possibility that you can bring peace"—and here the older woman smiled with a cool calculation—"it will make you too tempting for the Emperor to resist."

Isolde does not feel perfect. She feels raw and given to her rage. Oh, for a blaster! She stood mere inches away from the man who hunted the Resistance, the man responsible for Amilyn's death. General Armitage Hux bowed and kissed her hand, and she felt his lust and his covetous regard. Oh, for a blaster, for even a blade! She could have killed him where he stood. She could have turned her gown purple with the rivers of his blood.

And then there was his master—

_"This is your cousin, Ben."_

_Being five years old, she thinks he seems tall for the grand age of ten, with big ears and long skinny limbs. His clothes hang loose from his awkward frame, and he looks at her with a serious expression. His dark eyes make him seem older; his mouth rests in a sullen and permanent pout._

_"Will you play?" she says and shows him her doll._

_He shrugs out of his mother’s hold, a book in his hands. "Can I go now please? I promised Hosna."_

_Leia nods, and he leaves. "I’m sorry," she tells her. "I’m sure Ben will be around to play with you later."_

_Ben is not around. Isolde is the only child. The adults wander around her like giants, and she is lost in their gigantic land. There is no fun sitting down and playing on one’s own. She seeks adventure. There is a whole castle to explore. Large colorful rooms and bustling people of so many different species. Music and laughter and shouting and noise. No one sees her. She pretends she is invisible. She starts to believe that it’s true. She makes it as far as the basement and a maze of huge kitchens. Steam and smoke and heat and delicious smells. The cries of languages she does not know, though she suspects they say bad words. She wanders around through legs like cloth-bark trees. She finds a stressed droid making the finishing touches to pastries. He does not notice her there. If she climbs up on a rail between the counter’s legs, she can reach the surface. She wants to try a purple one. It reminds her of her stepmother’s hair._

_"What are you doing?"_

_She nearly falls, but something stops her. She feels herself gently eased down to the floor and turns to find Cousin Ben. He sits in a corner with his book and a plate of food._

_"I want a cake," Isolde says. "The purple one."_

_"Just ask G-Eight. He won’t mind."_

_"Master Ben, I do mind." The droid has seen her now. "These are meant for the afternoon tea your mother has—"_

_"It’s just a dumb cake. And besides, Isolde’s a guest too."_

_Isolde is amazed that Cousin Ben knows her name. But even more amazing is when the purple cake floats from the counter and into her hands. It is a delicate creation shaped like a bird. Isolde thinks that is why it must be able to fly and decides she wants to keep it._

_"Are you not going to eat it?" Ben says._

_She shakes her head._

_"Fine." He pulls a face and rolls his eyes. "You better go back upstairs. Your parents are causing a commotion because they don’t know where you are."_

_"They are?"_

_"Yeah. They’re pretty noisy."_  
  
_She doesn't hear anything. Still, she wants to go find them, but all she can see are the legs of people and the wheels of droids. She is lost. She might never see them again and then what shall she do? The fear grips her belly and makes her want to cry._

" _Don’t worry," Ben says. He stands and brushes crumbs from his clothes then offers her his hand. "I’ll take you."_

—No longer the boy she remembers. Besides his ears (hidden behind his hair) she will concede he has grown into his looks. But those looks speak of darkness, a gaping hole from which no light can escape. He remembered her ("Did you ever eat that cake?") but his gaze offered nothing more than politeness and recognition. She gave him her most luminous smile and believed it in that moment, for Leia had warned her of his sorcerer's ways, that she must always conceal her true feelings, that she must never appear to be anything other than the docile, would-be bride of a restless Emperor.

She should have had a blaster, Isolde thinks, looking around the horror of her red chambers, but instead she has this.

"Bluebird. I am in the nest. Do you read me? Over."

The communicator crackles with static in her palm. Fashioned into a large costume ring, one of the stones glows green to indicate someone on the other end.

"Elsa." It is Leia’s voice. "How are they treating you?"

"Formally."

Leia snorts. "I raised him well. How was your introduction?"

"Formal too. He remembered me. I think that was the only thing to pique his interest."

"He may be pale, but he is not bloodless. Don’t give up yet. Have you anything else to report?"

Isolde remembers all she saw the night before. Where does she start? "He helped the Jedi girl."

"Rey? You saw her? Is she well?"

She is a goddess, Isolde thinks. "She left the gala early. But later she had him and one of his knights help her put Maz Kanata and another knight to bed. They had been drinking."

"My son and Rey?"

"No. Kanata and the knight. The whole operation appeared to be conducted in secret. Also, there had been some kind of fight."

"How so?"

"Ben and the knight who helped were both injured and had damaged clothes. I think it might have been over the girl."

"Can we use this to help us?"

"I think so." Isolde sits cross-legged and holds the communicator close to her mouth as she whispers, "I think he is not bloodless but only for her."

"Then try to appeal to his pragmatism. See what else you can find."

"I will."

"May the Force be with you," Leia says, and the line goes silent.

Isolde dresses. A droid serves breakfast in her rooms. She has been granted an audience with the Emperor late in the afternoon but in the meantime has been granted free reign of the palace.

There are spies everywhere, and Isolde knows she is not really free. She feels like a sacrifice, a fatted cow being prepped for an elaborate feast. But unlike most beasts to the slaughter, she has volunteered.

The day is bright. She wanders the gardens and enjoys the scenery. She pretends to at least. She listens to the conversations of passing ladies. They are critical of the Confessor, whoever that is. "Don’t you mean concubine," one of the women jokes. They disapprove of certain fashion choices. They also disapprove of the Emperor’s sudden exit. "It is not how you win the favor of the court. But I suppose he had a certain itch that only a desert rat could scratch." Here they giggle. Isolde dreads the thought of having no other friends than these.

She follows the trail she took the night before, appearing to drift mindlessly between the many courtyards the way she would as a child. She sees the wooden gates that lead to where the Jedi and Maz Kanata live. No one is around or seems to mind that she has come here. So she lets herself in. She looks up to the roof where the two drunken bodies had been brought down by the gift of the Force. She had felt its darkness and power and had seen the glow of yellow eyes. In the sun, she reminds herself that no light lives here. Except for the last Jedi. Isolde is desperate to meet her.

Should she knock on the door? Or make sure it is safe first? She decides to check around the side and look through a window. She almost does until a large hand covers her face and an even larger arm wraps around her waist, lifting her from the ground.

* * *

This is not a normal hangover.

Malaak has never known such pain, not in his days of training under the sadistic Snoke. Not since Jedi history examinations under the judging gaze of Luke.

He dares not open his eyes. It is too light. Lighter than the smile of Lady Rey. Lighter than the fireworks that sparkled on the beach as he held Jana’s hand.

He will kill that blasted pirate and eat her for breakfast. If only he didn’t feel so sick.

He staggers to his feet and makes it to the refresher. He does not remember making it back to bed. The last thing he can recall is loudly singing from the roof with the pirate on his shoulders, the remaining drops of her whiskey spilling onto his bald head. His skin is sticky now. His blue tattoos appear washed of color. His eyes are injected with red.

"Bloody pirate," he grumbles. He splashes cold water onto his face. There were other voices too. The Lady Rey and Ms. Selena and another. Luke? Why should he remember him?

_Use the Force. Feel it flow through you._

I do, Malaak thinks. I feel it now. The Lady Rey sleeps. Maz snores. The sun is too bright and there are more people in the palace and sometimes it gets too noisy. Sometimes he gets bored. He does not like being stuck with babysitting duty. But the Emperor requested him. "There is no one else I would trust with this." And he cannot deny his master. He would do anything Kylo says.

_"Not like that."_

_Master Luke scratches out where Malaak has written from memory the laws of the Jedi. "Did they not teach you Basic at school?"_

_Malaak does not want to say he did not go to school. He is the oldest of the padawans and the least educated. Sometimes he thinks Luke likes to remind him. Sometimes he can tell Luke thinks he is not good enough._

_"Why don’t you teach him?" Ben says._

_Ben is hunched over a desk with a calligraphy pen in hand. He does not look at his uncle, but Malaak sees the look that Luke passes over him._

_Luke sighs. "I am sorry, Malaak. Keep trying. Patience and practice—"_

_"—is the way of the Jedi," Ben finishes. "Excellent lesson." Alec and Vadanav both snigger. Malaak wants to join in, but he is in trouble enough._

_"Ben." Luke stands over his nephew. "A word."_

_Malaak does not see Ben for the rest of the day. After saber practice (his favorite lesson), Malaak finds a quiet spot under a tree and attempts to read._

_It isn’t that he can’t read. His mother taught him. He and his seven other siblings, beneath a tree that was bigger and greener and more alive in the Force than this. He knows all the symbols and how they should appear. But his brain always struggles to make the connections. It takes time but eventually, yes, he can—_

_"What are you reading?"_

_Ben is standing beside him. Malaak never heard or even felt him approach._

_"A Student's History of the Jedi Temple," he says. He has lost his place now, and closes the book. "There is a test tomorrow."_

_"Revisionist crap," Ben says. "I wouldn’t worry about it."_

_"If you say so, but I failed the last one."_

_"What have tests got to do with anything?" Ben lowers his long frame to sit down beside him. "Luke can’t think of anything better to do. He’s making it up as he goes along."_

_"You don’t think he knows what he is doing?"_

_Ben snorts. "What I think is irrelevant."_

_"Did you get in trouble?" Malaak says._

_"No more than usual." He reaches over and takes the book from Malaak’s hands. "I can tell you all the answers. Luke hasn’t changed that test since he wrote it."_

_"I’ve still got to write them down."_

_"What makes it hard to write?"_

_Malaak’s never had the problem asked of in this way. Normally the implication is he is illiterate and a fool._

_"What’s in my head," he says, "I can see it, but it takes me too long to put it down on the page."_

_"And the same goes with reading? But almost the reverse?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Then we just have to figure out a way for you to do it differently."_

_"You think that’s possible?"_

_"I think it’s always possible to find a different way. But doing the same thing over and over again when it isn’t working? What’s the point?"_

_"Like Luke’s test?" Malaak says._

_Ben gives him a rare smile. "Exactly." He stands. "Look, a few of us are meeting tonight. It’s started to become a regular thing. Reading and discussing things not always Light-side approved."_

_"Does Luke know?"_

_"What do you think?" Ben says. He tosses the book back. "Or would you rather study for a redundant test?"_

_Malaak throws the book over the cliff. "I’m in."_

He needs to get out. He is going to be sick. He needs fresh air and a vat of caf mixed with bacta. He makes it to the front door unnoticed and around to the back of the building. He empties the contents of his stomach. There is only bile. At least there is a water trough he can drink from. He leans over the side and dips his head all the way in.

When he resurfaces, he senses something. Someone approaches. They do not stop by the door. They are moving around the side, towards where he is.

He presses himself to the wall and edges to peer around the corner. A tall figure with silver hair. He moves quickly and places one hand over their mouth and another around a tiny waist. It takes no effort to raise them from their feet.

"Can I help you?" Malaak says. Legs kick out; he holds the slim body tight against him. A woman. Her silver hair smells of a flower he cannot place. Her teeth gnash at his palm. They pierce his flesh. "Ow!"

"Unhand me!"

"You are trespassing."

"I got lost."

"A likely story."

She lands a kick to his shin, and his grip on her loosens enough that her feet can touch the ground. She twirls to face him. "Do you know who I am?"

She is beautiful, Malaak thinks. Like winter. He has only seen snow once before. He did not know anything could look so pure. He feels himself staring. He grabs her arm before she can run away.

"It is of no matter to me. You should not be here."

"Let me go!"

"Come with me!"

"No!"

He considers dragging her by her hair, but it looks like silk and he is afraid to destroy it; afraid he might be distracted by its softness. Instead, he picks her up and throws her over his shoulder.

"Put me down!"

"Not a chance."

She struggles against him, but his arm is locked firm; she is too flimsy to let fall, he thinks and marches them out the gates of the knights’ compound.

"I think the Emperor would like to meet someone who spies on his Confessor."

"I was not spying!" She stills her movements. "The Jedi is his…? But the Emperor… he knows me."

"He does, does he?"

"Yes! I am a princess!"

"You sure act like one."

"You don’t understand, you fool!"

Malaak growls, and this quiets her. "Watch your tongue."

"Watch your hands," she says more mutedly, and he can feel her lean her elbows in resignation against his back.

His procession continues in silence. He ignores all the looks they get. He is only interested in bringing her before his master for appropriate judgement.

"You should not have spied on her," he says. They are close now to the reception room that the Emperor uses for his office.

"I was not…" She bites her tongue and rethinks her words. "Why not?"

Malaak tightens his grip and says, full of warning, "She is who the Emperor holds most dear."

He stops before a set of doors. Imperial Guards block his way. "Move. This concerns a matter of security." He sets the woman down, keeping hold of one arm. "I bring an intruder found spying on the Emperor’s Confessor."

The guards move aside. The woman murmurs, "You are making a huge mistake."

"Let the Emperor be the judge," Malaak says.

They go inside. Kylo is standing before his desk. He has a black eye. Rey is seated in a chair to his right.

"My Lady," Malaak says, "I thought you were sleeping."

"I…" Rey struggles to speak.

"And my Lord—was there a fight I did not know about?"

Kylo sighs. "You were too drunk to remember. And why is she here?" He gestures to the woman, who is staring at Rey.

What are her intentions? Malaak thinks and regrets bringing someone before the Lady Rey who might put her at risk. "I found her spying outside the knights’ quarters," he says.

The woman struggles in his hold. "It is not what you—" The woman cannot talk; she cannot move. Malaak senses the will of the Force is keeping her still.

"Ben, what is this all about?"

"You can let her go, Rey. I’d like to hear her talk." He approaches and studies the woman, who gasps as she can once again move. "I should have known," he says, "but tell me, dear cousin: was it my mother who put you up to this?"


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't even know what happened here. Prepare yourself.

"Live well: how long or short permit to heaven"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Rey does not sleep.

She is haunted by words, by looks, by the images of two boyhood friends willing to tear themselves to pieces over the likes of her. A nobody. She has failed, she thinks. She sought to bring peace and has wreaked only havoc. She hears Luke's voice: _Anger, discord; this is not the Jedi way._

And all the while she remembers Ben's final words. After Alec kissed her hand and left with a smile, the Emperor bowed stiffly, bending low to whisper: _Forgive me for tonight. I was worried for your safety._ And then something else—the cause of her lost sleep:

_Help me find another way._

She lays motionless on her bed. She does not move until it is almost dawn. She rises and shrugs out of her beautiful gray gown, hanging it lest Selena be displeased at the careless handling of her work. She puts on pants and a brown tunic and her Jedi wrappings, and places a fur-lined cloak about her shoulders. She sneaks downstairs; Maz and Malaak are snoring in harmony, and she has no wish to wake them. Should they do, they will think her asleep, for she has placed the gift of Ben’s necklace atop her pillow and sealed upon it her essence, rendered peaceful with the Force.

There are things Rey can do now she did not imagine possible before.

She walks the palace grounds. There is no one out at this time of morning, but she still shields herself from sight. She sits on a stone wall and watches the sunrise. She wanders further, away from the formal gardens and into a park, sits at the edge of a small pond with a surface still as pressed crystalline. She thinks of what she must do.

"My Lady?"

Rey jumps. Alec stands not ten feet away. She did not hear him.

"I’m sorry."

She calms her breathing. "How did you—?"

"I have always had the ability to conceal myself from other users. I forget how much it's amplified now. I did not mean to startle you."

"It is no mind," she gestures to the stone next to her. "Sit."

He does. He wears fresh clothes, and the blood has been cleaned from his face. Still, he does not look rested. He catches her staring at the bruise on his cheek. "I was an ass last night. I'm sorry you had to witness it."

"It was nothing," she says.

"It is everything, which is the problem." He squints at the sunlight. "When I heard rumors that the Master of the Knights of Ren had taken to chasing a Jedi, I thought it must be for sport. Kylo had killed so many before. He was so set on hunting Luke too. Wiping out all trace of what we'd been through, of the hypocrisy of the Light. I could only assume that with you he meant to finish the job."

"Except he didn't."

"No. He chased you to the edges of the galaxy but there was never an intent to kill. Not even to harm. It was the most perplexing thing. I watched him spare the _Falcon_ —his father's hated ship—because I knew he could sense your presence. I watched him spare the couple who gave you sanctuary, when the boy I knew would have slaughtered them without a second thought. All foolishness, I thought. But it was nothing compared to what came next. Because when he found you, I watched him offer amnesty to our enemies—your friends—just to have you come to him. And so I began to hate you."

"Why?"

"I was certain it was witchcraft. Light side trickery meant to confuse and weaken him. Compassion is the Jedi's poison. I could see the beginnings of it in him, destroying everything we had worked for."

"It was not my intention to destroy anything."

"But you did. You came with a great howl of the Force, with raw power the likes of which I had never seen. And yet you weren't victorious. You were scared."

"I still am," Rey says.

"There is no need. I have taken care of that."

"You mean Moraband? It was too great a price—"

"I did it for you." His words are quiet, but they silence her completely. He turns to face her now. His yellow eyes are pale, and they stare deeply into hers. "Surely you must know this."

"Alec—"

"Rey, hear me out. I would do it again. The Emperor asked this of me and I accepted freely."

"It was too much."

"I knew the risks." He laughs. "But I had always wanted to go. A thousand schoolboy stories and it was to me a romantic place, full of heroes, of wondrous legends."

She feels the sadness in him, the loss. "But it was more."

He nods. "There is no power except through pain. That is the first tenant of the Sith. Not that I would expect you to know, your tastes being what they are." His smile is void of humor.

"Do not tease."

"How can I do otherwise? You won't let me say what I've come here to."

"Alec, please—"

"Would you prefer to torture me instead? You'd do a finer job than all the Lords of Old, I can promise you that."

"I have no wish to hurt you. I cannot bear to think of your pain."

"Then don't. My Lady," he takes her hands in his. Strong hands, they are warm and tanned from the sun. "Let me say what must be said." Rey is frozen; held in place by a power that is neither hers nor his.

"I know you care for him. He may have claimed you first. But he has set himself on another path and I cannot watch you suffer."

She moves to speak; he silences her with a gentle push of the Force. A dark, quiet insistence; it reminds her so much of Ben. "I will not ask for his place in your heart, though I crave one for myself." He holds her face between his hands. There are tears, and he is wiping them away. "I love you, my Lady. Since the first moment I laid eyes on you, in all your Jedi fury. I love that which I swore to hate. Don't send me away. Don't tell me this cannot be. Not when you are all that is in my vision. A dozen Sith Lords could not tear your image from me, and it wasn't for lack of trying."

"Alec—"

"Hear me out. I love you, Rey of Jakku. I am your loyal slave. I, who have been faithful to none. But I love you. Choose me. I will never give you cause to regret it."

"I…" The world is upside down, and it cannot be righted.

He wipes away her tears (like Ben would; _Ben!_ ) "Let me love you," he whispers, and his lips follow the paths of his fingers. "Let me." She feels his breath brush her mouth, and then he is kissing her.

His taste is dark and consuming, and it is a drug to her senses. She is lost; she kisses him out of instinct, she can only respond in the way she has kissed one other before. He pulls her flush against him and she feels the strength of his body, his power in the Force, a beast that hungers inside him and begs to be fed. She is kissing him back. She is kissing him, but then she sees Ben's eyes pleading with hers, one pale ungloved hand, his beautifully imperfect face and she knows—

She can never love another.

“Alec.” She pulls away and turns her head. "Alec, I can't." His arms are still around her, and she places a palm to his cheek. "I care so much but I can't. Not like this. I'm so sorry."

His body falls away. She lets go and she is running, tearing through the gardens and back to the heart of the palace. She is running and she doesn't know where; she is running towards a feeling, an idea, a vague hurt she cannot place. Towards a beating heart.

She finds him with neither sight nor sense, just the bond that connects them. He is alone in his receiving room. She shuts the door behind her as if she is being chased by ghosts. He sees her face and she lets him see inside her mind and he does but there is no anger, only sadness.

She feels his pain. Is this what you want from me? he thinks. The way he looks at her breaks her heart. I am willing to let you go.

"No." She says the words out loud. "No no no." It's you, she tells him. It’s only ever been you.

He is motionless for a moment then says, "You are shaking." He moves towards her. "Sit down."

She lets him lead her to a chair, the one beside his desk that she usually occupies. His hand at her elbow sends shockwaves through her body. (When have you last touched me?) He kneels before her and she thinks she might faint.

"Are you okay? Do you need water, caf…? You look pale. I can send for food—"

"No." Ben has a black eye from the night before, a slight cut on his lip. She wants to touch him. She does. She can feel the roughness of his stubble. Her thumb traces the purple mottling on the arch of his cheek.

"May I kill him?" He takes her hand and places a kiss to her palm.

"Who?” Her eyes flutter closed. “No."

"Not even a little bit?" he murmurs to her wrist.

Rey smiles, despite herself. "You're taking this very well."

"Not at all, I assure you." She opens her eyes to find him studying her lips. Do they look swollen? Can he see the mark of another?

"I didn't mean for it to happen,” she says. “I didn't mean for any of this. It was just that I couldn't sleep. I’ve been awake all night thinking about what you said."

He speaks silently this time. About finding another way?

She speaks silently in return. I can't do this anymore. I never wanted to push you away. And now you've chosen someone else—

There has never been anyone else.

But last night—

He opens his mind to her. Opens it up completely. There is no attraction when he meets the silver-haired woman. He remembers her from his childhood. His words are only in regards to that memory. Rey searches his feelings. There is only her.

"Why are we doing this? Ben, we've been such fools."

"Tell me what to do. You asked me to make a better path and I have tried. If there is another way—"

"Let us find it together."

He is going to kiss her but he stops. They both feel it. Someone is approaching. Some two. Ben stands and faces the door as Malaak bursts through.

He pushes a woman in front of him. She is tall and dressed in blue. Her long hair is disheveled, but Rey knows who she is.

"My Lady," Malaak says to her, "I thought you were sleeping."

"I…"

He turns to Ben. "And my Lord—was there a fight I did not know about?"

Ben sighs. "You were too drunk to remember. And why is she here?" He gestures to the woman, who is staring at Rey. Up close she is more beautiful than Rey could have possibly imagined. Her lovely eyes are softly tilted, her lips are full and pink, and she is panting slightly, as if she's been in a fight of her own. She does not look pleased.

"I found her spying outside the knights’ quarters," Malaak says.

The woman struggles in his hold. "It is not what you—"

Rey silences her with a flick of the Force. A spy? Then let her be punished. No one shall harm what is hers, she thinks, and toys with how much pressure to place about the woman’s throat.

"Ben," she says, "what is this all about?"

"You can let her go, Rey. I’d like to hear her talk." Ben approaches and studies the woman, who gasps as she can once again move. "I should have known," he says, "but tell me, dear cousin: was it my mother who put you up to this?"

The woman pales. She takes a step back. Her mouth opens and closes as she attempts to find words. "My Lord…"

"I can read your thoughts, but it would be preferable if you would speak them truthfully. I know it was my mother. She could not help but bring a Resistance operative in our midst."

"Resistance?" Malaak and Rey speak at once, with completely different intonations.

"Leia sent you?" Rey addresses the woman now. She realizes she does not even know her name.

"Let me kill her, my Lord! Make an example of those who would defy you." Malaak's hand is on his saber.

"Peace, Malaak, There shall be no killing today. My Confessor has declared it. And my Lady,” he looks at Rey now, “I apologize. It seems introductions are in order. Allow me to present her Royal Highness Princess Isolde Eurydice Amantonia Lin, of the house of Hasran Lin of Gatalenta and of Isolde Organa of Alderaan.”

She is a princess, Rey thinks. Of course she is. Rey gives a stiff curtsy. "Your Highness." How could she be anything else?

“And I suppose my mother fully briefed you on who this is?” Ben gestures at Rey.

The princess responds with a dignified incline of her head. "My Lady."

"Why is there to be no killing?” Malaak says. “She is a spy. Is that not what we do with them?"

"She is with the Resistance.” Those words feel strange in Rey’s mouth. "Therefore, she is under my protection. Assuming you come as a friend."

Malaak looks forlorn. The princess nods. "Yes, my Lady."

"Then say what you have come here to say." The Emperor looks on, impatient.

"My Lord, you need a wife."

Rey stands. "Excuse me?"

"A consort," the princess corrects. "You need—"

"My Confessor is the only consort I need," Ben says, voice low in warning.

"It is not enough."

The look on Ben's face would be priceless, if it was not for the context. But the princess will not back down.

"They don’t trust her," she says, looking at Rey.

"Who doesn't?"

"The Resistance."

"But I—” She feels the sting of tears; the wound of another abandonment. “I did this all for them! I came here to save them!” Ben does not move but somehow is embracing her through their bond.

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I do not mean to give offense. But you have been gone for over two months. No one has heard from you. There were whispers that you'd given yourself over to the Dark Side. Rumors that your allegiance had changed. And now I am told you have become the Emperor's Confessor—"

"Because he asked me to," Rey says, pointing at Ben. "Because he needed me!" I would do it again, she does not say, though she knows that Ben hears her. "I was helping our cause," she tells the princess. "I negotiated the safe capture of Maz Kanata. I sought a peaceful end to the conflict—"

"The Ewoks were still slaughtered," the princess says coolly. "Takodana lies in ruins. It was feared that your influence was not significant enough."

"And yours would be?" Ben says. "Speak carefully, _cousin_."

The princess looks to him now. She is so lovely; Rey has the inexplicable urge to claw her eyes out. "I would not presume to control you, my Lord. That is not my purpose. It is what I represent. Those who are behind me are willing to quell…" She glances at Malaak. "I'm not sure we should be having this conversation in front of—is he trustworthy?"

Malaak growls as Ben answers, "A thousand times more than you. Now continue."

"They want Hux gone. They want the military disbanded to little more than a peacekeeping force. They will stop their guerrilla campaign in return."

"And my power?" Ben says. "Surely they don't approve of that."

"They are willing to allow centralized power to stay with the Emperor so long as they have assurances of a bloodline they can trust."

"A bloodline…" Rey feels sick. She feels Ben reaching out for her.

"And I suppose that is where you come in," he says.

The princess looks resigned. "Yes."

"I could simply promise these things. There is no need for an alliance that neither of us wants."

"Your promises mean nothing. Right now there are a hundred more rebellions planned from the Core to the Outer Rim—"

Malaak grabs the princess by the arm. "Let me have her, my Lord! I will make her sing the names of these traitors."

She tries to free herself of his grasp. "I don't know them! They would never trust me with such information." She looks at Ben, who nods for Malaak to release her. "But continue on your present path and you will have to slaughter your way through every one."

"I would," Ben says.

"No!" You are better than this, Rey tells him. Do not rise to this bait.

"I will not be dictated to," he says out loud.

"It is not ideal," the princess agrees. "But marriage is the only way they will believe your intent."

"I could just as easily kill you on our wedding night."

"You would plunge the galaxy into civil war."

"And this is the message from my mother?"

The princess nods. "This is the message." The bravado fades from her voice, and Rey thinks that suddenly she looks very young. "I would not presume to be your wife in anything other than name. I would not ask for your affection. The truth is, I don't love you any more than you love me."

"So why do it? Do you enjoy playing the puppet?"

"I enjoy no such thing.” There is a fierceness in her gaze that Rey knows well. “But I love peace. I love my homeworld. I have seen too much of death. If I can sacrifice myself for something greater then it doesn't matter what I want. This is more important. If I can in some small way bring an end to the suffering then there is no higher purpose."

The Emperor looks at her with disdain. "A pretty speech."

"She's right, Ben." The thought escapes Rey before it is even fully formed, but as she hears the words, she knows the truth of them. The implication comes after, and hits her like a blow to the gut. All eyes are now fixed on her. Heart breaking (again), she continues to speak. "There is wisdom in what she says. We cannot control this by mere will."

"We can," Ben's eyes grow dangerously dark.

Rey shakes her head. "No, we can't. We must have peace. We must have Hux destroyed. And they are right not to trust me. What have they seen? A Jedi turned servant to an Emperor of the Dark side. Rumors of far worse. And besides, I am not important; I would never have been important enough—"

"You are important to me!"

She smiles sadly. "And you to me. But you were right all along. You can do something far greater. We both can." She looks to the princess. "The Emperor is prepared to entertain your suit. Send for whatever negotiators you feel necessary. And Malaak? Can you escort the lady back to her rooms? I wish to speak to the Emperor alone."

“Which rooms?” Malaak asks gruffly.

Ben looks only at her. “Palpatine’s old suite.” Your old rooms, he confesses.

They look only at each other as they hear the doors close.

They are alone. Truly alone. As if they are the last living beings in all the universe. It reminds her of the stillness after the last Praetorian guard had fallen. But Ben is not looking at his dead master now.

“Come here,” he says. He holds out a hand. Just like before. His voice is rough with emotion. Just like before. Just like before.

But now she goes to him.

He holds her, and she cries at how she has missed him, every part. How she is denied him. How she has betrayed him. She pulls enough away from his chest and rubs at her mouth and thinks I am sorry I am sorry I am—

“Enough.” Ben holds her hands still. He flattens her palms against his heart. He strokes her lower lip with his thumb, then the upper. I will rid you of him, he speaks through the bond and she thrills at the possession. You are mine. I am yours.

Yes.

Whatever happens.

Yes.

I do not want to give you up. I do not want to marry another. I do not want their children. He senses how she flinches at the reminder of what will not take root. “I don’t want any children! What don’t you understand? I just want you.” He is kissing her. She is kissing him back. But she knows and he knows.

Ben. Oh Ben. This is the right thing to do.

* * *

Somehow, she is composed enough to endure the rest of the morning sitting at his side. Their kiss is interrupted by Cescan Wylde. Rey thinks Ben might commit murder. But he only kisses her palms and looks at her with a promise: we are not finished yet.

They are not finished, but she is tired. He makes her eat lunch and sends her back to her rooms and tells her to sleep. She does. She ignores Maz and Malaak. She goes straight to her bed and puts on the necklace he had given her and sleeps a deep sleep that is not invaded by dreams of his touch or nightmares of a future where she will always be denied it. She sleeps and does not think about anything. It is dark when she wakes up.

She is hungry, but there is no food that will sate her.

She goes through her wardrobe and all her beautiful gowns and searches for something else. In a chest beside her bed. She has not worn this in a while, but she has kept it for sentimental reasons.

Now in her cloak and cloaked by the Force, she is the phantom that haunts the palace. The bringer of Light and destruction. An angel of discarded hopes.

The Force does her bidding; his guards all move away. She is at his door and there is no other. There is a hunger. One last taste, she thinks. One last bite and I will forget you.

(She is a terrible liar.)

The door opens without being knocked. He is expecting her. Dressed in only loose black pants; the sight makes her as nervous as it did the first time she saw him like this through an inopportune quirk of their bond.

Not quite as nervous. Rey drops her cloak. Ben’s eyes burn through the white silk of her nightgown.

One last taste, he agrees, and takes her in his arms.

(He is an even worse liar than her.)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whew. This chapter was a bear, y'all. Took ages to figure out. Kind of a risky hot mess up in here. Fingers crossed that it works. :)

"They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow  
Through Eden took their solitary way."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

He watches her go to him.

She is in his arms, a tangle of white silk he knows so well and dark hair he has longed to touch and there is the sound of her lips on his. He can hear the movement on a cellular level, can feel electrons spark against each other as friction becomes fire. He hears her voice. A name. It is a sigh, a prayer she speaks over and over again.

The door closes, and he is against it. She is too, and he can feel the press of her back, the curve of her ass being held up as if she weighs nothing. (She really does.) The kisses become longer, deeper. Her hands are frantic. She shifts against the door so she can reach down between them, reach for what she’s looking for. She finds it.

There are no clear images anymore. There is only dark and light. The dark of him, pushing inside her, the light of her flesh resisting—struggling to envelop him. He feels her pain in that moment and he wants to cry out too. But more than pain there is desire, a name intoned again and again and again—

The dark is buried inside the light and their union produces a strange conflagration. Fire and ice battling for dominance, a dance for which there can be no hope of victor. Not when both parties want to be conquered.

He can feel her breaths, her heartbeats, the stinging tightness of her nipples as they are sucked and pinched. He feels her begin to uncoil, and he is gripping the wall for support. Hard, aching, panting, he wants her—more than he has ever wanted anything, more than a thousand planets aflame; she burns hotter than them all. Dark and light merge and blend together and she is coming oh Gods she is coming he can feel it—he will not survive this. He feels her contentment, feels her coming off the wave of euphoria and there are only scattered words, fragments of speech, half finished thoughts but he knows them already. _I love you I love you I have loved no other I never will don't leave me find a way stay with me stay please I love you—_

And then the word he cannot bear. The name that is not his.

_Ben._

Pressed to the door, Alec feels her kiss another. Cloaked in the Force, invisible to all and most especially to her, his heart cracks open. Like the pigment of his eyes, something is draining out. He staggers away, defeated.

He has never known true pain until now.

* * *

He will not release her. He cannot give this up.

From the door to the floor to the bed to the refresher, she is pliant in his arms. She belongs here. He will show her. He will break her down. He cannot stop touching her. Cannot stop tasting her skin. The sweet drip of honey from between her thighs and his salt and the sting of her blood. She is still not ready, not accustomed to his size, but he will show her. He will take whatever he wants.

She does not resist. He wants her like this. He wants to take over. He wants to possess everything. He is the monster. He is not kind, but he is loving. This is how he loves her. A star dying. An implosion. The inescapable vacuum of his need and desire. There will be nothing left when he’s through.

He leaves her a fluid, satisfied mass upon his bed. When he holds her she spills like water. He can mold her into whatever shape. He wants her this way. Rey. Just as she is.

The bath is the size of a pool and he fills it up with hot water. She will not go cold. There are scented oils that shimmer on the surface with a glossy spectrum of color. He will clean her. He has thought about this for some time (since the time he saw her through the bond on his father’s ship; since he tasted a droplet of water from a bathtub that held the essence of her skin).

He carries her to the refresher. He thinks he will always carry her. There is no need to walk. Her legs are for wrapping around him. For spreading. For exploring and testing. He loves the contrast of strong muscle in her thighs and the hidden gives of softness. He is learning their feel. The swell of her calves in his palms. The arch of her feet curving in pleasure under the pressure of his thumbs. The ungiving bone of her ribs and the willing flesh of her breasts. The way her nipples change in his mouth versus his hands. Her ass, he thinks; her ass. (That is all.)

She is fluid as he holds her; limp. He wants her like this. Never go. You should stay. You will never want for anything. I will lay the galaxy at your feet.

She settles in his lap, ass pressed to his crotch, and his hands begin to massage and remove all evidence of their lovemaking. It is a messy business, he thinks. Under rain and in the mud of a forest. Surrounded by the heat and oil of the _Falcon_ ’s engine room. Draped by the Force amongst the shadow of his quarters. There have not been enough times. He strokes and washes her flesh and presses his mouth to her neck, her shoulders, reaches with the Force and caresses that sensitive part between her legs. He needs more times. He needs the infinite. He needs to make her come and say his name and do all the things he is just learning. So much lost time. But he was waiting for her. He does not regret his waiting. He would wait a thousand lifetimes for this.

She moans his name. How?

Quiet. Just let me do this.

His fingers slip inside her as he cleans her breasts with his tongue.

She is draped over him. She straddles him now. She hums and her fingers play with the ends of his hair. Her nose rubs his ear. He will never be self-conscious of how his ears might stick out if she will give them such attention.

They are strong, she thinks. All your features are strong.

Everything about me?

Yes. Even your weakest parts.

He hugs her close. Nipples scraping his chest. Her heat to his core.

I cannot do this.

What?

I will find a way. I will not let you go.

Ben—

He holds her tighter. You are mine.

Yes, _Master_.

Stop. He is hard. Do not joke.

So you like that?

Yes.

Am I not your master? Or your mistress? She is sad at that word.

You are my all. He lifts her and lowers her onto him. There has been no other. There will never be another.

She holds him tight too. I am sorry.

Hush.

I am sorry about—

He moves her up and down at the pace he wants. He is rough. He does not want to hear that name.

Why not?

Right now?

You are friends.

We were brothers.

How?

Rey—

She holds his face. She is looking at him. She holds his face and she is his and this is not the end. There will be no end. There is no end between them. Where did they even begin? He cannot remember.

I want to understand.

What is there to say? He opens his mind to her. Take whatever you want, my love.

* * *

Ben Solo is an awkward teenager. Too big of bone, unsure how to move his body. He is surly. He is quiet. He dislikes everything that his uncle tries to teach him. He thinks too hard. He reads too much.

The day a new boy arrives is just the same as any other. Ben does not talk to the other students. They are wary of him. Too smart. Too dangerous. Too gifted by his special family. All the things that they are jealous and afraid of they will not even credit to him.

The new boy is blond and confident. Ben hates him on sight. He comes from a poor village on a planet in the Outer Rim. Ben does not know how Luke found him. But here he is. Acting like he owns the place.

Ben carries on as he always did. He pays the boy no mind, but the boy is curious about him. He has heard the rumors and he does not believe them. That lanky kid? I doubt he could beat his own shadow. Try me, Ben thinks. One day the boy does.

It is lightsaber practice but they are still only limited to sticks. The boy—his name is Alec—wants Ben to spar with him. He has already taken down two of the others. I am looking for a challenge. The exercise is to learn defense techniques, Luke says. Jedi do not act out in aggression. Alec rolls his eyes and Ben can read his thoughts without entering his mind. I came here to fight.

They do. Ben has always held back before. What was the point? There was nobody to be angry at. No worthy opponents. Now Alec lunges. He tests and he taunts him. He thinks Ben has no violent instincts. He is wrong.

The battle ends with Alec flat on his back and Ben poised with a stick pressed to the boy’s throat. His heart beats hard. Alec is smiling with bloody lips.

Luke isn’t happy. Ben doesn’t care. Alec takes to following him around after that. Teach me what you know. How did you learn?

You cannot rely just on the Jedi, Ben says.

There is more?

There is Snoke, always Snoke, and his words of enticement in the back of Ben’s mind, but Ben does not tell Alec that. Instead, he starts to share everything he has read. Alec absorbs it all. He is in thrall of the Sith. He wants action. What is this passive bullshit? How did the Jedi achieve anything? By luck, Ben says. Sit around and things still happen. Is that what you are doing here? No. Ben pauses. I don’t know. Let’s do something, Alec says.

They start to read more. They take trips and find places that hold the history of the Sith. You have to read it all, Ben says. The Dark and the Light. You can’t make sense of a thing unless you can see it from every angle. Alec has no interest in anything other than the Dark side. Hide it from Luke, Ben says. He won’t understand. He never does.

There are others who join the fledgling school. A strange pale boy called Vadanav released out of slavery. He does not talk but he listens; Ben thinks he understands what Ben is trying to do. Ersn seeks them out since he can read their minds. Sometimes he hears thoughts that he does not wish to. Luke has tried to help but Ersn can feel his master’s hesitation. Ben has better ideas, Ersn says. He has more control. Ben has been learning how to block out other people’s minds since he was four years old.

A huge beast of a man shows up. He is a man by age but by learning he seems a child. He is called Malaak and he wants to know about the Force. He is desperate for Luke to teach him but Luke does not seem up to the job.

What are you doing? Ben thinks. We should break out on our own, Alec says. He has brought along a young boy named Pular. Pular has been around for some time but he was barely nine when he first came here. He is just turned fourteen now. Alec says he has a special ability Ben will want to see.

Are you sure you want to do this? Ben says.

I am sure. The boy’s eyes are cool. They take in everything. Ben sees them drift to Alec often.

Their group is born. They meet up every night. Ben reads them different texts he has found. They discuss the merits of the Jedi versus the Sith. Ben senses in all of them a conflict, a struggle and disconnect from the Light that only seems to worsen under Luke’s misguided tutelage. I can teach you, he thinks. I can help you. Maybe it can help me.

There is a divide in the school. People think their group strange. Luke thinks it wrong. He discourages them from spending time together. He tries to separate them in their scheduled activities. He brings their curfew forward, but still they always sneak out.

Luke confronts Ben. You are leading these boys astray.

How?

To the Dark side.

Why must it always come down to sides? There are things you cannot teach us, that go beyond the Jedi way.

The way you are choosing will lead to unhappiness.

And you think I am happy now?

His uncle does not understand. He will never understand. It is so easy when you can only feel the Light. But Ben feels everything. He always has. Alec tells him that he just needs to get laid.

Alec is often the only person Ben can talk to. He does not say everything that weighs on his heart, but Alec hears Ben’s doubts and understands them. I feel like we have the power to do good, Alec says. We could change things. I grew up under the constant threat of war. There was no one to protect my people. The Force exists for a reason. You have taught me that. It exists so that it can be used.

Ben agrees. He is tired of inaction. He is tired of doing the same thing over and over again. Snoke tells him he is almost ready. Ready for what?

Then a message is received from Alec’s mother: their homeworld is under attack.

Alec wants to fight. He wants to save his family. Ben wants to help him. The other boys do too. This is what they are for. It is time.

They go to Luke. There will be no mission. The Jedi do not engage. It is not our fight.

It is my family! Alec is livid. He paces before the doorway of Luke’s hut like an animal trapped, a predator waiting to pounce.

This is not our way.

Then it is not my way. Alec starts to leave. Luke holds him with the Force. I cannot let you go. You are under my care. It it my duty—

I will kill you! Alec says. He spits and vibrates; he cannot move.

What are you doing? Ben thinks. Let him go!

Luke raises his hand and Alec falls. Ben is there to catch him. A Force sleep. How could you? It is his family. We have all this power and you waste it with your empty lessons. Do you even believe what you preach?

He holds his brother (for they are brothers now). Malaak growls; he and the others (for they are all brothers now) stand by Ben’s side. You will put him back in his hut, Luke says. Restrain him. He cannot leave and throw his life away.

I will do no such thing! It is his life to do with as he chooses. It is his power. You are wrong. If this is what it means to be a Jedi, then fuck the Jedi way.

Luke pulls Alec to him with the Force. I will take care of him, he says. Go to bed. It is late.

The sun still hangs low in the sky, teetering on the horizon, on the edge of night. Ben lies awake and thinks. There must be another way. Can he embrace it all? The Darkness approaches. Is he strong enough to face it? It is time, Snoke says. This is your moment. You are ready.

Ben dreams of such power. Of recreating the galaxy. Of changing things and no longer being static. Of waking up from the stupor of the Jedi code.

He does wake up. His uncle hovers over him. The green glow of his saber and hate in his eyes. Ben reaches for his own saber out of instinct. He pulls the Force down around them out of instinct too. He emerges unscathed from the rubble.

Chaos reigns around him. The other students are disturbed. He throws them back. He will not be stopped. He needs to find his brother.

Alec is unconscious and bound on his bed. Ben wakes him with a surge of power. He breaks the restraints. You were right, Ben says. Are you willing to join me?

The band of brothers stand united. The other students stand in their way. Ben offers them a choice. They choose a foolish dream. They choose to fight. Ben feels nothing as he is forced to slay them.

Far away from the burning ruins of Luke’s wretched school, five boys kneel at their master’s feet. The Jedi are finished. I will see that it is so. There will be no more inaction, no more passivity. There is only the fight. There is only the will of our passion. Follow me and I will show you true power. You do not have to be afraid of the Dark. It is time that we learned to revel in it.

One by one they pledge their loyalty, the tip of their master’s blade poised at their undulating throats.

Arise my knights.

But, Master Solo—

Malaak’s words are cut off by a saber. Ben Solo is dead. You shall call me by another name. The only name you will know me by.

I am Kylo Ren.

* * *

"We were too late to save them. My planet burned. Everything was lost."

"But you stayed loyal to Ren?"

"He vowed vengeance for what had occurred. In a way, we were each other’s family. I would have followed him anywhere. And I did. The path he laid out took us to Snoke. We were pawns of the First Order. But always, there was always the promise he made—follow me and I will show you true power."

"It seems you feel let down."

"I feel misled. Sold a lie the same way as his bastard uncle. Kylo has loyalty only to himself."

"And what of the girl?"

I love her, Alec thinks. He has not loved anything since the death of his family. He has not loved anything this much before, and the longing threatens to consume him. He remembers her cries against the door, calling the name of another (the boy that Kylo Ren killed)—

"She is not free. He keeps her tied to the end of a string. This bond they share, it is a poison. He is too much of a coward to sever it. Too afraid that she'd have no reason left to choose him. But he is set to marry someone else. He throws her away—seeks to debase her like some filthy whore." The room shakes with his words. A thousand deaths are not good enough. A wave of hatred echoes around him, so loud it makes the walls crack.

"If it could only be broken." Alec despises how desperate he sounds.

"It has been tried."

"Not enough!" The shelves tremble; books begin to vibrate and fall. It feels as if the whole room might come apart. "She loves me; I have felt it. I know it to be true. She just needs to be free of him."

"What do you want?"

I want her to be mine, Alec thinks. He says out loud, "I will not give up. But she mustn’t be harmed. You were too careless before. Enough of these vendettas against Ren—"

"You presume to tell me—"

Alec rises to his full height. "I presume many things. You forget my teacher. Do not think to trifle with me."

"So I am to be your lackey?"

"You may… assist me."

The other voice scoffs. There is the creak of leather from the chair that does not face the fire.

"Or you can go back," Alec says. "The Emperor is not the only one who knows your secret."

"He does not even understand his own power." There is a long pause. "And if I were to agree?"

"You would have all you desire. But first—"

"I grow weary of demands."

"No more hiding."

The chair creaks further.

Alec faces the fire. He stares down into the flames. He can hear the chair move and feels a presence behind him.

"I do not hide, boy."

Alec turns and his breath catches. He will never get used to this, even as he sees clearly. Long face. Body stretched too tall and too thin. Cold yellow eyes that match his own. The figure is nearly opaque with only fading flickers to suggest intangibility. The gaunt Muun face gives him a look of disdain.

"Is this what you seek?"

Alec bows. "My Lord Plagueis. It is an honor to meet you at last."


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So in this chapter we ditch the dudes for a while and focus on the ladies. (Also, the OC party totally continues. Now with extra drinking!! And surprise cameos! And more drinking! Nothing says jumping the shark like a case of rum and a B-plot populated entirely by OCs. ~~The Malaak/rock shippers are not going to be happy.~~ )
> 
> Also, I updated the Ben/Alec fight in chapter 20 and it is now a lot more violent and bloody. I hope you like. ;)
> 
> Finally, please check out these amazing photo edits for Reylec and Isolde by the very talented and very generous Melody_Of_The_River:  
> [Reylec](https://melodyoftheriver.tumblr.com/post/170532419467/alec-and-reyfrom-free-to-fall-by)  
> [Isolde](https://melodyoftheriver.tumblr.com/post/170722541862/isolde-an-original-character-from-free-to)

"Moping melancholy  
And moon-struck madness."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

The doors to the Emperor's receiving room close behind them. Isolde is shaking. A large hand grips her arm.

"Move."

She takes a step, stumbles, then whirls to face the large knight. "Do not touch me!"

She surveys him for the first time since their meeting (there had only been angry glances before and the humiliation of being carried like a sack of grain to face the Emperor). They stand nearly eye to eye, though the knight is slightly taller. It is here their similarity ends, for he dwarfs her in every other way. His skin looks like leather, dark and rough—the color of the Tevraki whiskey that her father likes to drink. His eyes are brown too; darker than his skin, and there is no light in them. His nose is reasonably proportioned but ridged by displaced bone to suggest it has been broken, most likely more than once. His mouth is set in a tight, thin line. His chin is strong; his jaw clenched. His neck seems to merge with his bald head and disappears beneath his tunic, black like the Emperor's and the other knight's she has seen but lacking in sleeves, as if his shoulders and arms are simply too large to be contained. And all over him is a strange design of blue—geometric lines and swirls that spread out symmetrically from the middle of his face and cover every inch of exposed skin.

She has never seen anything like him.

"Resistance scum," he mutters. "I should have known. Should've killed you when I had the chance."

"And start a war?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I'm trying to prevent it, you idiot."

"By making yourself Empress?" He looks at her as if he is ready to crush her skull between his hands. He probably could, Isolde thinks, and has to fight the urge to retreat.

"By bringing peace!" she says.

The knight scowls. "You will bring no peace to this house." He points down the hall. "Go."

She obeys, only because she cannot think of an argument to contradict him. She cannot believe her audacity before the Emperor. She cannot believe that he actually listened to her words—and agreed with them. Leia convinced her it would likely take weeks, even months before he’d be persuaded to see reason.

And the Jedi—all the stories did not do her justice. She stood before them like the true ruler, clad in nothing but peasants' clothes, and yet it was her counsel the Emperor listened to the most. The one he holds most dear, she remembers the scowling knight saying.

She loves him, Isolde thinks. And he loves her. And yet he has agreed to marry me.

What should feel like a victory tastes hollow. She knew there would be sacrifice, but she thought it would be hers alone. She did not anticipate this.

They stop before a set of red lacquered doors. An ink-stained hand presses the panel to make them open. "Inside, Princess."

"I have a name," she snaps.

"You have too many names. What the kriff do people call you?"

She straightens up until they are nearly eye level and adopts her most regal and withering glare. " _Your Highness_."

He laughs, and her temper flares. She never loses her temper, yet it seems all she ever does in his presence. "And what do they call you? Or does a grunt suffice?"

He stands tall as well. Chest puffed out, it nearly touches hers, so close does he stand. "I am Malaak," he says. "Slaughterer of the Western Regions, Guardian of the Knights of Ren, and Champion of the Emperor," he inches forward, flicks his eyes down her body and back up again. "And you may call me _Sir_."

"I shall call you nothing. I shall not think of you at all."

He smiles as if he knows she is lying. Isolde escapes behind the red lacquered doors.

* * *

The next day she is summoned before the Emperor. She dresses in full regalia, a white gown with a pale blue sash and a jeweled collar. She wears the osmium tiara that was a gift from Amilyn. She prays for iron in her spine.

She stands in a large hall she has not been in before. It is black and gold and contains many mirrors. The entire court is assembled. She stands before the Emperor's throne and listens to a man named Wylde reel off her lineage and list of accomplishments. He announces that the Emperor has chosen her for his betrothed. When asked, she replies that she is in agreement, and her voice shakes only a little.

The Emperor does not speak. The Lady Rey sits at his right side. She is dressed in a gray gown that looks made for mourning, face somber and hair pulled back in an intricately braided style. A brightly colored necklace rests incongruously about her throat. She looks as if in a trance; she does not look at Isolde. After she accepts the betrothal, Isolde states that her attendants and negotiators shall arrive to make the preparations immediately, and at this the Lady Rey stands and leaves. The Emperor does not stop her, and her departure goes unnoticed, except by the golden-haired knight, whose eyes follow her out of the room.

Isolde does not see the knight who is called Malaak.

She returns to her rooms, and she is alone. She refuses the help of a droid to remove her gown. She shrugs it off and leaves it on the floor, stands before a large dressing mirror and proceeds to uncoil her long hair from about her head. She takes off Amilyn's tiara and places it lovingly in a velvet box. She puts on a simple blue gown and ties her hair back with a strip of ribbon. She looks like a child, not a future Empress, and the thought depresses her. The court is at lunch, but she can't face joining them. She misses her homeworld. She misses her aunt. She misses Leia, who would surely have some guidance to give her. She feels despised. Like the fly in the jar who has ruined the honey. She is unwanted. She is lonely. She thought she might find a friend here. Someone loyal to the Resistance, someone who would understand. A foolish part of her thought that it might be the Jedi, but that was before she knew what she means to the Emperor, and what the Emperor means to her. That part makes Isolde feel especially wretched.

There is no one she can talk to. No semblance of an ally. Leia does not respond to her calls. There is no hopeful green light on her communicator ring, only the bloody red of every surface that saturates her rooms. She cannot stay here. It is like being slowly digested in the guts of a rotten beast.

Isolde picks up her cloak and wraps it around her. She leaves her rooms and wanders the palace as she did the day before. She is not a spy now (the worst spy in all the Resistance); she is the Emperor’s fiancée. She is a pawn. She is nothing. No one pays her any mind as she makes her aimless way.

She finds herself standing at the gates to the knights’ quarters. The sun seems lower in the sky than when she began this journey, but she cannot say how much time has passed. She remembers standing here under starlight. Her shock at seeing the Emperor and his knight do the bidding of the Jedi girl. The magic of the Force. People floating from the sky. Being manipulated like puppets. A tall dark figure staring up at a window of light; a romantic figure she thought, like something out of her childhood stories.

* * *

The day starts out perfect.

Rey wakes up in Ben's bed, tangled naked with him in soft black sheets; he has been watching her for Gods know how long. Soon the watching turns to touching and tasting until he is pinned beneath her, letting her have her way with that glorious body of his. He does not resist when she ties him to the bed and she claims him as thoroughly as he claimed her the night before. She knows that she is the only one who can make his eyes burn so brightly and make his heart echo to the beat of her own. They merge and blend completely as she rides him. They find their pleasure in the same moment, and she feels all he feels. It is only when the sun is risen that reality intrudes and she remembers what she has sought to forget. That he is promised to another. That she was the one to promise him.

And then what does she do? Stands by his side and watches in silence as he is betrothed to the most beautiful woman in the galaxy. She wants to die. Ben is in her head trying to offer comfort, telling her all the ways that he loves her, how it doesn’t mean anything and he will find another way. She cannot listen. The princess makes her speech, and Rey cannot take another word. She leaves, wordlessly begging him to let her be. She can feel Alec's concern, but she pushes back against his offer of comfort too.

There will be no comfort today. She only wants to be alone.

She returns to her rooms and strips off her gown. She does not have the heart to even hang it up. She puts on her filthiest wrappings, the shirt with the unraveling hem and the pants with the hole in one knee. Let her be what she is, what the court sees her as. The desert rat. The scavenger. They are the most honest of all her clothes. She takes off Ben's necklace. She can't bear its feel anymore; it will make her cry. She wanders downstairs, but the barracks are empty. Malaak is practicing his forms out in the courtyard with the club-saber he wields so well; something has agitated him, and she does not wish to disturb.

She goes to the knights’ garden. It is a neglected patch of shrubs and herbs and the fossilized roots of unharvested vegetables. Rey gets on her knees. She digs her hands in the dirt. She could only cultivate a single sorry flower in the arid heat of Jakku. Maybe she can make something else grow here. Or at least remove all the decay. It is satisfying to pull out what is dead, to bring the rich black soil to the surface. To feel something that is real on her skin and not likely to disappear.

"I can give you something," Maz says.

"For what?"

"That you can grow." She returns with a palm of purple seeds. "Needle blossom," she says. "From the Wookiee planet."

Rey does not ask how she kept them all this time or how she came to have them. She thinks about Chewbacca and it only makes her sadder.

Maz shows her how to plant them. They make small evenly spaced divots in the ground and place two seeds in each one. "You need two seeds together," Maz explains. "They do better in pairs." Rey waters the earth and Maz stands beside her, satisfied. "Beautiful flowers," she says, "and they make such excellent liquor."

Liquor, Rey thinks.

"Yes," Maz says aloud. "Come. Let’s have a drink."

They go inside. They have not talked much since the ill-fated night Maz sent Rey to the Emperor. Rey knows how much she wants to apologize, how she has been drinking on her own and with Malaak as a way to drown her shame. But Rey does not want to hear that she is sorry, not because she is angry but because she does not want to relive anything. Maz seems to sense this as she leads her to the barracks' basic kitchen. She pulls out a wooden crate and half her short body disappears inside as she digs through; she comes up with six glass bottles of clear liquid.

"Chadian rum," she tells Rey. "Very rare stuff. One of the Imperial guards smuggled it in. Not the tall one, but the one with good hands." She climbs onto a chair to grab two glasses from a shelf and pours them both a drink.

They sit at the kitchen table. Rey swallows then chokes. Maz does not comment on her lack of skill. They drink the first round in silence. On the second, she speaks.

"Husbands," she says. "They are too much trouble. It is better that you are not bothered by such things."

Rey takes a large gulp; the burn does not bother her now. "So this is your way of apologizing?"

Maz appears to ignore her. Now her words have started, they cannot be stopped. "My first husband was a Mular. Fiery temper, but devoted. Still, who can live a life without sunlight?"

"You mean he was was too ill-tempered?"

"I mean the Mular live literally without sunlight. Their homeworld is steeped in darkness. Just try redecorating in that—"

Light and darkness. What does it matter? Rey thinks. The alcohol is seeping into her bloodstream. If she was more Force-attuned, she could probably influence its pathways in her body. Ben would be able to explain the science of it, and this causes an ache in her chest. How she misses his words. His brain. The sound of his voice—

"—was a pirate. Never marry a pirate. Great in a fight, even better in bed—but useless for everything else. Horrific cooks, the lot of them."

"I'm not going to marry anybody," Rey says. She holds out her glass, and Maz refills it.

"It’s so hard to keep count." Maz scratches her head. "I think the third was called Brian. I'm not sure why I married him exactly. It might’ve been a bet. Something over wampas…"

Rey drinks her third glass like water. She feels underwater. She feels a movement on the other side of a wall, a nudging insistence through the Force, but her instincts are clouded. It takes far too long to realize who it is.

"Gods," she grumbles.

"No," Maz says, "I never married a god—"

"Not that." Rey gets up. "We have a visitor." She goes to the front door and pulls it open. "Do you want to come in?"

The silver-haired princess blinks at her, startled, one delicate hand held poised to knock on the now empty space.

"She's just through here," Rey says and drags her across the threshold with a pull of the Force. "Don’t be shy." The girl squeals; she looks terrified as she follows Rey into the kitchen. "Hey, Maz, look who’s been dying to meet you!" Maz stands on the table, occupied with opening a second bottle. "She's wondering if you're still in contact with the Resistance."

The princess’ mouth hangs open. "How did you…?"

Rey points to her forehead and says "Jedi" the same way a less circumspect person might have said the word 'dumbass.' The princess looks suitably abashed.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I did not mean to intrude."

"No intrusion at all." Maz hops down and gestures for the girl to take a chair. Rey returns to her own seat and picks up her glass. The princess hovers uncertainly.

"I can come back another—"

"Nonsense!" Maz says. "We have perfectly good alcohol that needs drinking. And this one," she points with her thumb at Rey, "won’t be able to finish it on her own." Rey scowls as she downs what is left, but Maz is unperturbed. "I know you," she says to the princess. They are all sitting now.

"We have never met."

"Yes, but I knew your mother and you look very much like her. I was sorry to hear that she died."

The princess' face turns sad and even more irritatingly beautiful. "I don't remember her much. She died when I was very young."

"Good woman," Maz says. "Good drinker. Good Organa stock. How she ended up with that bastard Lin I will never know—"

"Nor I," the princess says bitterly. "But I suppose I should at least credit that unfortunate union for my existence."

Maz smiles. "I like you, little Organa. What do they call you?"

The princess pauses. There is something she does not wish to share, and Rey can't be bothered to dig around in her head. "Isolde is fine," she says.

"Pleased to meet you, Isolde-is-fine," Maz says. "And I take it you already know each other," and she nudges Rey.

"Yes, a little," Isolde says, looking at Rey with more abject fear.

Glasses are filled and refilled, and Maz returns to her reminiscing. "We were on the subject of husbands," she tells the princess, whose eyes bug out further; Rey studies the clear contents of her glass. "It is not husbands who matter in the slightest."

"Is that why you had so many?" Rey says.

"I was bored. It passed the time. You have lived for less than a heartbeat. Try reaching my age. And back then, well, it was expected. You did not lie with someone until you were—"

"Maz!" Rey has had enough; the princess is blushing. "We get the idea. It all comes down to… to sex." Her words falter; she is blushing now too.

"You enjoy the act but you cannot even say it?"

"I have nothing to say," Rey snaps.

The princess takes a gigantic swallow of her drink. She coughs and splutters most of it out. "Sorry," she squeaks. "I'm mostly used to wine."

Rey makes a face; Maz makes one back. "This was you only an hour ago. Sip slowly," she says to the princess. "Until you get a feel for it."

Isolde does, and the three drink in awkward silence. Rey tries not to think about sex, of Ben held down between her thighs, the muscles straining in his body, his eyes turned black with lust and worship. Her legs squeeze tight together. She tries not to think about him having sex with another, and the table starts to shake.

"What’s wrong? Is it an earthquake?" Isolde says.

Maz places a hand on Rey’s arm. "It is a storm and it shall pass."

Rey calms down and the shaking stops. She closes her eyes. She focuses on her breathing. She feels Isolde watch her.

There is no such thing as a perfect day.

* * *

Isolde drinks quickly. She drinks to forget. She drinks in the hope it will numb her fear in the presence of the Jedi. She did not think Light-wielders were susceptible to rage, but all she learns about the Lady Rey seems to prove all she knew is wrong.

Thankfully Maz is here to fill the dead air and replace all the tension with her many stories. Wild tales that take Isolde from the dingy kitchen across the stars to planets she has never been to and with peoples she will never have the chance to meet. She listens, enthralled. Even the Lady Rey is intrigued. Maz teaches them the drinking songs of the fire ghosts of Gatina and the battle hymn of the Halivath and the victory song of the favorite killet team of Markonia. By the last, Lady Rey reveals a warm alto that wonderfully complements Isolde's trilling soprano, and Isolde is brave enough that she tells her so.

"—just Rey," the Lady says as she pours them both another glass (is this the fourth or fifth bottle?). "We should probably be on first name terms, all things considered."

The anger has faded somewhat from her eyes, and it makes Isolde feel bolder. She thinks that Rey is a beautiful name and tells her this as well. The room is slightly spinning, and Isolde has never drunk anything quite this strong and quite this much, but her worries are starting to feel lost to another time long ago in another galaxy far, far away.

She looks at Rey, so beautiful and brave, and Isolde is in awe of what she sees and she has heard. "Do you know all the stories they tell about you?" she says and recounts every one. Of Rey the last Jedi lifting the boulders that saved the Resistance on Crait. Of her mythical prowess with the _Falcon_. Of her childhood forged in the unforgiving deserts of Jakku and how she learned to survive despite the odds. Isolde wants to tell her how much she admires this woman. How much she wants to be like her. A life of action and adventure, that is what Isolde always prayed for. Not to be some carefully cultivated decoration. She tells the stories she has heard of Rey's escape from the First Order, her studies with the great Master Luke. Of the legend of her snowy duel with the terrible Kylo Ren—

Rey's face falls.

"I did not mean to—that is to say—"

"No, it's okay." Rey sighs. "It seems so long ago. So much has changed." She scrunches her face up. "It is annoying. You’re a lot nicer than you look. And I don't have nearly the urge to kill you as I did before."

Isolde finds this hilarious and giggles before she can help it. Rey laughs too, and soon they are sprawled on the table, each with a cheek pressed to the rough surface as they stare at each other. At some point Maz excuses herself to the refresher, but Isolde is barely aware as she goes. She looks at Rey and all she can think is:

You're just a girl.

"So are you," Rey says, but Isolde did not speak. The Jedi points to her head. "Sometimes you are loud and I can hear you."

"You mean—"

"I’m sorry. I’m not trying to read your thoughts. I don’t think I really want to know them."

Isolde is drowned by a sudden wave of sadness. It is as if all her emotions are in flux and she cannot control their order. She cannot hide them, even if Rey does not want to hear. "I didn't mean to come in and ruin everything. If I had known how you felt, how he felt—"

"Stop," Rey says. She shrugs with one shoulder. "What would it have changed? We're pawns in all this. We do not get a say."

Isolde is still sad. She is sleepy. Rey moves to take a drink and wobbles on her elbow. She leans back against the table and closes her eyes.

"I should tell you that I'm sorry," Rey says.

"For what?"

"I slept with your betrothed. More than once. A lot more. I—"

"It's okay." Isolde reaches out and pats Rey on the shoulder. "I’m glad you did. I don’t really want to."

Rey opens one eye. "And why the kriff not?"

"I didn't mean—"

They are laughing again.

"It’s not what you think," Isolde says. "The Emperor is certainly handsome." Rey glares. "Hear me out! I just mean I’m glad you could choose. That somebody could choose, even if only once." Tears fill her eyes and burn like the rum she’s been drinking. "That's what I’m going to miss. That I'll never get to choose whom I kiss or whose children I bear or whose name I take. It is a luxury that will never be afforded to me. So I can't begrudge it someone else."

"Gods, that's depressing," Rey says.

"Tell me about it."

"You are too good for us."

Isolde isn't sure what this means, but she doesn't complain when Rey wraps an arm around her shoulder, her eyes closed and the rest of her still.

"It's Leia's fault," Isolde says. "This was all her grand plan."

"What the kriff was she thinking?" Rey's voice is whisper. Her breathing grows heavy; it sounds like she snores.

Isolde’s eyes grow heavy too. "Kriff if I know."

"If you'd bother to sober up for a minute, I'll tell you."

Her eyes snap back open. Rey is fast asleep by her side, and Maz has not come back from the refresher. There is someone else; it takes Isolde’s eyes forever to focus—and even then, she thinks she must be hallucinating. But there she is in a beautiful red coat, grayed hair pulled up into a complicated design of her home planet and with the same dark eyes as her son.

"General Organa?" Isolde says. No kriffing way. She blinks and tries to raise her head from the table but the room is spinning too far and too fast until it swallows her up in black.

* * *

Malaak does not brood. He fights and he fucks and he never hesitates to shoot off his mouth but he does not brood. That is the territory of the Emperor, and to a lesser extent, Magess.

But not Malaak. So why he is sitting in his room, staring at an untouched glass of Corellian whiskey is beyond him. He saw her today, hidden away in the upper gallery as he watched and she gave herself over like some virgin sacrifice to a bloodthirsty god. He did not think it would affect him. He was wrong.

She is too young, he thinks. She does not understand what she is doing. She is willing to die for a cause less noble than herself. Child, he scoffs. You should not be so foolish. The world will only break your heart.

He thinks of Jana the day she promised to be his, the faith he put in her, and the utter faithlessness with which that promise was held. They are all fools, Malaak thinks. Blinded by the same sharp blow to the head that heralds the unfortunate emotion of love.

Someone knocks at his door.

He has heard the commotion from the kitchen, knows that Maz and the Lady Rey wished for privacy in their drinking, not that he had any intention of intruding. Not even when he heard the pleasing melody of a third voice join the fray.

His Force sense is not as honed as some of his brothers, but he knows that this is not Rey, which most likely leaves the pirate.

"Go away," he barks.

The door opens. "Are you the guy that's in charge around here?"

The woman that greets him is a woman whom he has never met, but whose face he knows. It is the Emperor's mother.

"You look strong enough," she says. "I could use some help."

He is tasked with putting the Lady Rey to bed (and Malaak only complies because he knows it is the Emperor’s highest wish she be taken care of). She is light but snores loudly. The Emperor’s mother sees to tucking her in and sends Malaak back to the kitchen. He is to escort the princess to her quarters as he did at the start of the day (for it is also what the Emperor would want).

Except now the princess is blackout drunk.

She feels remarkably pliant in his arms, and lighter than her height would lead one to believe, lighter even than the Lady Rey. The softness of her hair is as distracting as he'd imagined. It drapes over his arm, unbound (a ribbon came loose as he had lifted her) and nearly touching the floor. Her face rests against his shoulder and one hand lies flat upon his chest and he thinks he would be enjoying this if he weren’t so distracted with wondering how she came to be drinking with Rey and Maz in the first place.

She stirs in his arms. "You're not General Organa," she says.

"I am not."

The princess blinks. Her eyes begin to focus. "You're the knight. The mean one. The one with all those tattoos."

"Correct," he says. He is not in the mood for mindless chatter.

"Do you want a drink?"

"No."

"I want a drink."

"You've had enough."

She attempts to stretch, arching her back and nearly throwing him off balance. She settles more comfortably, one arm draped across his shoulders, and she nuzzles his neck.

"You smell a lot less scary than you look."

He is having to concentrate hard on breathing and walking and speaking all at the same time. "You smell like rum," he mutters.

"Good rum. Soap is a beautiful thing."

"Are you inviting me into your bath?"

She laughs. "I like you. Will you be my friend? I have no friends here."

"I—"

"They call me Elsa. That is what you me asked before. It is what my friends call me. What my stepmother did."

They are nearly there. He reaches the doors and opens them with a struggle, walks through the antechamber and across to the large bed. He lays her down. "Go to sleep, Princess."

"Elsa."

"Princess Elsa."

She grabs his wrist. Her delicate fingers don't even span the circumference. "You didn't answer my question."

He stares down at her. "What was the question?"

Blue eyes stare up at him. "Will you be my friend?"

"I…" He feels helpless. He feels hit with a sharp blow to the head. "Okay."

"Oh," she sighs. "That's nice. Thank you ever so much."

"Sure."

"Good night, my knight." She giggles.

"Malaak," he corrects.

"My Malaak."

She gives him a beautiful smile. He gives her a gentle nudge with the Force, and her eyes close. Soon she is calm and peaceful. And the Slaughterer of the Western Rim, the Guardian of the Knights of Ren and the Champion of the Emperor—he feels anything but.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!!! I just want to say that the comments section has become the best and most amazing place, full of everything from unbelievably awesome and thoughtful discussions to gif central to cabbage wisdom to bad alternaship names to the best place to find Malaak/rock fic to impromptu declarations of love, and on this day of all days I want to send everyone my love and let you know how much I appreciate every single person who has dropped by to say hey and how stupidly happy I am that my story has brought you even a thimbleful of joy. To quote Bryan Adams (the second best Canadian Bryan out there) everything I do... I do it for you.
> 
> And for fic. <3333
> 
> No hearts and flowers tonight, dear friends, just mothers and sons. And feels. Mwah.

“Midnight brought on the dusky hour  
Friendliest to sleep and silence.”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Kylo watches his mother put his lover to bed.

He sensed her arrival before her ship broke atmosphere. It was entirely predictable that she would be the one to head negotiations for the Core system. Most of the court still holds nostalgia for the useless days of the Galactic Senate and it has twisted into unspoken sympathy for the cause of the Resistance now too. Kylo did not greet her. He did not arrest her either. Nor the obnoxious pilot who fills the role of a dutiful son.

Kylo feels no duty. He feels tired. He has felt Rey getting intoxicated for the last three hours.

She lies in the servant bed he has sat beside as she struggled through nightmares and he kept the fire strong. His mother pulls the blanket over her shoulders and close to her chin. He thinks it will make her uncomfortable. He thinks she needs to lie more on her side should she be sick in the night and risk aspirating—she makes him worry too much. He is annoyed she got drunk to the point of losing consciousness. He is frustrated she is not lying in his bed passed out due to more pleasurable reasons.

His mother sits by Rey’s side and brushes a strand of hair away from her face. It is an empty gesture, Kylo thinks. He does not know why their bond chose to connect them like this, when Rey is unaware and Kylo is already agitated. The Force is vindictive when it is displeased. There are too many fluctuations, too much uncontrolled Light and concentrated Darkness. Kylo senses the disturbance as constant white noise. He is tired but he will not sleep tonight.

His mother stands. She stands three feet away from him. She stares right through him and for a moment she stares at him. Kylo stares back. Then she moves. Unlike Rey, who is tangible to him (and so close he could touch her—he should if only his mother would leave), his mother passes through the place where he stands. He feels her Force signature as he did as a child, a caress of his hair as she put him to bed, the hum of a song; all empty gestures but he stills. His mother stills too.

She does not say his name out loud but he hears it. Rey is the only person he knows to call him by that name now.

He turns and his mother is busy tidying Rey’s things. She hangs up the dress Rey was wearing for the engagement announcement. Folds the white silk nightgown (oh Gods how he cringes seeing his mother’s hands all over that). Picks up a box from a dresser and opens it. His grandmother’s necklace. She stares and touches the colourful jewels set like flowers. He knows she feels her mother’s presence as strong as he did. He wonders what she thinks of his gift but he cannot bring himself to pry.

The Force is bored of this game. The image of Rey’s room begins to blur and he allows himself a final glimpse of her sleeping (and thankfully breathing) form before he returns to the dark walls of his own chambers.

He will not sleep tonight. Tomorrow will be the first day of negotiations. He has already sent for the other knights. He knows Malaak is returning the princess to her rooms (he knows because the strength of his heartbeat sounds through the palace like a Wookiee war drum). There is only one person Kylo cannot sense. It is an anomaly that strikes a great curiosity inside him, as much as it triggers rage and inconsolable fear.

He puts on his belt and attaches his saber. He leaves his rooms and silently requests for the Imperial Guards to remain where they are.

The journey is not far.

He presses the buzzer to announce his presence. The last time he was here he had let himself in like a thief and somehow squashed the urge to revert to a murderer. He could feel everything; there is only silence here now, like the soundless echo of the library. He does not do well with such a disconnect. It is only when he hears the deliberate sound of footsteps approach several moments later that he knows for sure the room is not vacant.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” Alec says. He leans against the open doorway in nothing but loose black pants and the most infuriatingly smug smirk. Kylo’s hands are balled into fists; he breathes through his nose. “Can I help you, brother?”

“We need to talk.”

Alec leads him inside. There is a heightened arrogance in the way he allows Kylo to walk behind him, saber at his side yet not perceived as a threat.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Alec says, his back still to him. There are marks all across his tanned skin, faint pink lines that were not there before. Alec was always remarkably scarless despite their many sparring matches and numerous other battles (markedly unlike Kylo, who took the brunt of punishment from Snoke).

“You look different,” Kylo says. He is still not used to Alec’s new eyes. They glow in the dim light of the room as Alec turns to face him. “I remain undecided if it is an improvement.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Like I said, we have a lot to talk about.” Kylo reaches out to graze Alec’s mind with the Force. All he senses is a black cloud, an empty void. “Nice trick,” Kylo says. “How’s it work?”

Alec smiles; he is unfazed by the intrusion. “If you’re going to make me endure one of your academic inquisitions, I insist you take a drink.”

Kylo does not drink. He accepts Alec’s offer. They sit in the gaudy living area Alec decorated himself. Kylo does not sit on the large green sofa; he remembers what he saw there. The two men end up either side of the fireplace in high-backed chairs sipping Corellian whiskey (the favored brand of his father).

“Your taste is awful,” Kylo says.

“Any taste at all always offended your senses.” Alec’s golden eyes glance briefly to the unoccupied sofa. “Of course, now your tastes have changed.”

“So have yours. It is unusual that they would become so particular.”

“Say what you have come here to say.”

“Say her name; I will allow it.”

“Rey.”

“You have reached your quota.”

Alec laughs. “I never would have predicted but I should have known—you would always be like this. You cannot share. You cannot lose. You cannot abide anyone else having the things you covet.”

“Tell me what I covet from you.”

“The ability to save her.”

The glass is crushed in Kylo’s hand. He does not perceive the shards that pierce his skin. There are sharp fragments that stab everywhere else. He closes his eyes. He squeezes his hand tighter until the pain registers.

“You need me,” Alec says.

“Yes.” Kylo looks at him. “Why else would I let you live?”

“Sentimentality? A sense of honor?” Alec takes a large swallow of his drink until the glass is empty. “I am no threat to you.”

“Why not?”

“You have the bond.” Alec laughs again but it is a brief, humorless sound. “I cannot compete. I will do this for her as you asked of me. I will explain all I have learned. I will rid you of Plagueis. And she will still choose you for the Force wills it so.”

“She loves me,” Kylo says. It sounds pitiful. It sounds so pathetic. To hear those words spoken out loud, the unfathomable secret he has carried like a sore, like a lie. Yet he believes them.

“How does she know? How do either of you know how you feel?”

“You do not understand.”

“You think I am incapable of love?”

“I do not know,” Kylo says. “Perhaps you love her as well. It is easy to, I know. But you are seeped in the Dark, and she is a child of the Light. You would not accept—”

“I do not accept being lectured on protecting the Light by the grandson of Darth Vader.”

“Luke’s father as well,” Kylo says. “You never did grasp what I was trying to tell you.”

“You fed us all lies.”

“You chose not to listen. You were always enamored by the Dark. You wanted a mythology, a philosophy that fitted your preconceived views. The Jedi were useless, ineffectual and cruel in their inaction. But there are faults to the Sith too. What did they do to you?”

Alec leans forwards; he smiles. His gaze shines brighter than the flames of the fire. “They opened my eyes.”

“They mutilated you.”

“Pain is the path to enlightenment. You taught me that, Master Solo. I saw you sacrifice yourself to that crooked, manipulative charlatan and it took you years before you understood. I saw it all in two weeks. I had the guidance of twelve true masters. You let yourself be abused by a mad man.”

Kylo holds up his bleeding palm. “I know this is my legacy. I am covered in scars. I forget what physical pain feels like. I barely sleep. I have barely slept since I was a child. But it was not the power of the Sith that allowed me to kill to Snoke. There was no rule of two. There was only her.”

“You are denying your true power. The bond weakens you. It is as I said when you brought her here and I saw her almost bring you to your knees. You have never fully embraced the Dark side. You cannot embrace the Light. You are fractured. You have always been fractured and killing your father and fucking a Jedi will not fix who you are.”

“Fucking a Jedi?” Kylo says.

“You finally got laid, didn’t you?”

Kylo stands. He raises his bloody hand. He imagines the Force squeezing around Alec’s throat. Nothing happens. Alec rises too.

“There is so much I could show you, brother,” he says.

Kylo lowers his hand. He presses his mouth together as he thinks and remembers. “It worked the night we fought, when I Force choked you then. What is different now?”

“I had to play to my audience. Not that it was hard to garner sympathy.”

“Do not manipulate her. I swear on her life I will end you if you twist her will in any way.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Fool. You have let the Lords destroy you. You say I am fractured? You are poisoned. You are not the same.”

“I am stronger. Is it that now I may be stronger than you?”

“We will test that theory one day. But this is not that day. Do you love her?” Kylo thinks of Rey’s memory of Alec’s kiss, of the conviction of his words. She is naïve and she is a passionate creature, tactile and impulsive. Her body responded out of an instinct Kylo had honed, and Kylo imploded at the image with the force of a dying star.

“You know it to be true,” Alec says.

“Then show me this newfound power of yours.” Shards of glass drift out of Kylo’s palm, disperse and coalesce in the air then hover like waiting darts. “Show me how we beat Plagueis.”

* * *

Leia always wanted a daughter.

There was never time before, when Ben was young and Han was travelling and she was too busy trying to build a brave new world, but there were moments, bits of time, thoughts held together like flaking bundles of straw—that in another life she would have liked to have a daughter.

She hated growing up by herself, and she hated it for Ben too, though she spent every spare minute she could with him. She hated the feeling that she would never feel a baby kicking inside her womb again, or witness first steps or first words or a first smile. Never experience the soft weight in her arms of someone who is wholly dependent upon you for life itself. The awesome responsibility and suffocating love of being needed. Every milestone with her son also held within it a tiny tragedy, and the pragmatic part of her brain would remind her this is the last and this is the last and so on. She always thought too much about the future, and Han was never shy to point it out. It seems like the future is all she thinks about now.

But she would have liked another child. Maybe a whole houseful, in a world where she wasn’t who she was and Han wasn’t who he was and they could have made a different life together. A smaller life. (A happier one? The question is no longer painful to endure. So little of happiness is our own choice, she thinks.)

But the thought strayed from time to time and still does even now, though Han is gone and she is long past the age of child-bearing. She would have liked to have had another child. A dark-haired girl, full of brightness, with a quick wit and a ready smile like her scoundrel father. With her mother’s courage and resolve. Leia stares at the young woman lying in bed now and thinks this might have been her, all grown up, with a loving family and none of the sorrows a little orphan girl from Jakku would have had to endure.

Would she have messed this one up too? Leia wonders in her daydream. Probably. There is a part of her that believes their line is cursed, that she and Luke were products of a union that never should have happened and the universe is still trying to recover from it. She doesn’t voice these thoughts but she knows Luke wondered too. He wondered since the first day she brought her son to him, asking for his help.

Rey sleeps peacefully. Aside from the stench of rum there is a peacefulness in the air, and Leia longs to stay and be comforted by it. She rises from the bed and crosses the room. The peacefulness is replaced by coldness, a dark presence she can feel, though nothing appears. She takes another step and it is if she has slipped into a pool of ice water. She knows who it is. She thinks to call out but what is the use? There is no welcome in this embrace.

She starts what she intended to do, picking up Rey’s things as a mother would, tidying up after a long day, and the ritual soothes her. She finds the necklace of her mother in a velvet box on the dressing table. She knows this only by the Force but she can see her mother’s face. She can see the face of the one who gave Rey this gift. All her mother’s dresses Leia has in storage at the palace on Naboo. She never had someone she could share them with. And now he gives you this?

She turns off the lights, leaving only the glow of the fire. She goes downstairs. She is restless. The night is warm and draws her outside to the small garden at the back of the kitchen. Leia is not the only one. A tiny creature stares down at a wealth of needle blossoms straining up toward the moonlight.

“They were planted this afternoon,” Maz says.

She stops beside her. “Green thumbs.”

“It is not I who planted them.”

“I figured you’d be passed out.”

“For teaching children how to drink? Salah, you know me better than that.”

Leia smiles at the use of her bride-name. It is the only word Maz has ever called her, bestowed upon her at their first meeting, when Han brought her to Takodana. “I heard you were out of commission two nights ago.”

“Bah! That one was a worthy competitor.”

“The bullish knight? I met him.”

“He will be trouble for the pale one.”

“I have trouble enough without your help. Feel that I've missed too much as it is.”

“You have,” Maz says cheerfully. “It is good to see you.”

Leis takes her hand. “You too, old friend.”

They sit on an iron bench. The air is sweet down here, and Leia feels no desire to go back inside. "I've been away too long," she says.

"You have," Maz agrees.

"You think me on a fool's errand."

"I think you do what you feel you must.

"I make the best of what I can."

"And for those you affect?" Maz's large goggles reflect the moons, making them look as if her eyes are lit with light. It is a strange effect and Leia tries hard to ignore it.

"Sacrifices must be made. It is the way of politics. If we do not make the hard decisions, then billions—trillions more will suffer for our mistakes." She has seen this firsthand. Seen her father's passion and anger rewrite history; it is only fair that she try to make amends.

"That is why I was never a politician," Maz says.

"Just a pirate."

"You have some softness for them as I recall." She places her hand on Leia's. "I am sorry, Salah. I miss him too."

The mention of Han is a blade to her heart. Like a thousand blades; she does not ever think she can get over it. "I want vengeance," she says. "I want to grieve. Part of me wishes I had gone with him."

"Do you think it would have been easier?"

"Easier than seeing what is left of our son."

"You have not seen much."

Leia looks at her sharply, a harsh retort on her tongue. Maz corrects herself. "I only mean that you have not seen from up close. You once held out hope. Do you still not feel it?"

Leia's face hardens. "I try to give my hope to those who deserve it."

"And love? What of that?"

It is a poison, she thinks. "It is pain," she says out loud.

"For that girl upstairs, I think you are right."

Leia looks to Rey's window. She can still see the faint glow of firelight from within. "I never wanted her to get mixed up in all this."

"It was not for you to decide, Salah. You think you can control these things, that you can control people. You think you can control the Force—"

"We cannot all be passive and stand aside." She and Luke never saw eye to eye on this.

"Yes, but let yourself receive help. What if she is his path to the Light?"

Is it possible? Leia cannot let herself dare hope. It would be a foolish dream; a fairytale. Life does not work that way. "I know his nature," she says, and saying the words feels like defeat. "He is driven by obsession and control. I would not see her a slave to that."

"They are bonded," Maz says. "The Force has brought them together."

"But what of her?"

Maz sighs sadly. "She loves him. It is an aching sickness for that one. If they were to be separated…" She shakes her head.

"She cannot change him," Leia says.

"Can she not? I am still here. You are still here."

"Han is not." There are tears that want to come, but Leia will not let them.

"No. Nor is he coming back. And Ben Solo alone must bear that."

"You use his old name."

"I am not the only one."

"She cannot handle him. She cannot handle the Darkness—"

"That is not for you to say. Your world is politics."

"She cannot handle that either. There are more voices than just mine. They won't rest until there is a true alliance—"

"That is why I leave it to you."

Leia's laugh is hollow.

"You are young," Maz says. "Not like me. My time is coming to an end. Your time too, Salah. We shall not live forever. There must be others to take our place."

"You think Rey is that person?"

Maz inclines her head. "I think there are many possibilities. Some seen, and some yet to be imagined. I think the Force will show us."

"You sound like Luke."

"I think the Force already has." Maz lowers herself off the bench, looking suddenly very frail. "And now I am off to bed. I leave you to commune with the ghosts and learn their secrets."

"I'd rather commune with some rum," Leia says.

"That too."

Maz pauses. "The night will not last forever, Salah. Do not let it rule your heart."

Maz goes and Leia looks at the garden. She has seen these flowers before on Kashyyyk. Chewbacca’s wife, Mallatobuck, would dry them and make them into tea. For sleep, she said. And fertility. Leia still isn’t sure how those two things could work together. But she drank the tea (bitter if not sweetened by a hive’s worth of honey), and three months later she discovered she was with child. She rests a hand on her belly and she thinks of her son. You started here. Under the influence of needle blossoms.

She looks at the flowers and, under the light of four moons, it seems as if they rise up to greet her.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In the words of that cinematic masterpiece otherwise known as _Bad Boys II_ … [shit just got real y'all](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvqJ1mTkEuY). Happy Friday. <3

"While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps,  
Between us two let there be peace"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Imperial guards hold open the doors to the reception room and Rey goes inside.

She attempts to straighten the folds of her dress, the first dress Selena made for her, the first dress she wore entirely for him. She does not feel as bold as she did that day. She does not feel as beautiful. She is tired and nauseous and her head throbs; her throat is a strange combination of dry yet sticky. She did not understand what she was feeling when she woke. She thought she might be dying. She could not remember going to bed or sitting in the kitchen or who was there or what was said. Maz handed her a glass of water and ushered her into the refresher. "Big day ahead." Yes, Rey thought. Huge day. And all I wish is to be curled up in bed.

She wishes for other things. Strong arms wrapped around her. A warm body. Someone to carry her and hold her and withstand all that is to come. To take care of her with soft words and tender actions. She looks at the Emperor and thinks, can it really be only a day since you did?

He rises to meet her. There are questions in his eyes. Annoyance. Concern. He looks poorly rested. He never sleeps, she knows, but the circles are darker today, the downturn of his mouth so much heavier. She feels a wound in the twitch of his right hand, even though it is gloved. She wonders what ails him. She wonders (but he does; what is the point?) if he knows what ails her.

"My Lady."

The other knights surround his desk. They are a wall of black, each armed with his saber, amongst other weapons (Rey carries her saber as well). They straighten to attention as the Emperor stands, Alec included. She can feel his eyes always on her, even as she avoids them. Golden and piercing and burning her with want. She cannot deal with it today. She owes him words, she knows, but she has not enough to share. She is only here for one reason. The Emperor holds out his arm.

She accepts it. He guides her into her usual chair. She has a permanent place by his side now, even if it is the only place the court will officially allow her to be.

Why were you drinking? He orders for a servant to bring them caf.

To forget.

It will not work that way; his voice in her head chides gently. The hot black liquid is served and Ben fills her cup with extra cream and sugar. He pushes a plate with two honey-drenched pastries towards her. Please, he says. If you do not feel better, I will suffer all day.

She looks at him and there is amusement in his eyes. You give me quite the headache, he does not say out loud. He turns to his knights.

"Are we in agreement?"

There must have been a discussion Rey missed. The knights all nod. Alec gives a stiff bow. His eyes are molten gold.

A knock at the door and an attendant enters. "My Lord, the Resistance delegation are in the conference room. They expect—"

"I will be there when my delegation is ready. Let them wait and tell them nothing." Eat, he implores her. The Emperor’s entourage is not ready until the Emperor deems his Confessor is.

Rey senses silent conversations between the knights, furtive glances between them and at her. Ben sits staring straight ahead, his mind closed off and whirring with calculation. He is strategizing for this grandest and deadliest and most daunting of games. So much hangs in the balance; Rey feels sick. She feels mad. She eats the pastries and drinks her overly sweet caf because it is the only thing she can do.

Ben stands. He holds out his arm and she takes it. He leads her out the room and the knights follow behind. The Imperial guard flank them. They make a bold procession through the palace—her single speck of white like a star in the blackness of space. She does not know the room Ben is leading her to. There are so many rooms in this complex maze she has not explored yet, still does not understand.

He is a solid presence at her side, grounding and giving her balance. He needs her strength too. She feels that. It makes her stronger. Her back straightens and her strides become more certain, in time with his. She is ready. They can face what awaits them in the next room together. I am yours and you are mine.

Yes. Forever.

She curls her fingers into the crook of his arm, feels his bicep swell and tighten.

Forever.

Two large doors loom up ahead. Cescan Wylde and General Hux stand before them.

"My Lord," Hux says as he and Wylde both bow.

Ben nods, and two attendants open the doors; a third rushes inside to announce their entrance.

"All rise for the Emperor! Supreme Leader Kylo Ren."

The room they enter is flooded with light and Rey is momentarily blinded. She keeps hold of Ben’s arm. He guides her around a wide and immeasurably long table. She can see tall windows up ahead that reveal the main courtyard of the palace. The sky is vivid blue. There are no clouds; it is perfect. A blank canvas. The possibility of anything.

Ben turns. He pulls out a chair with the Force and holds her hand until she sits. She feels the squeeze of his gloved fingers. Rey looks straight ahead.

Across the table the Resistance delegates stand, squinting against the light. She sees Poe, face tense with anger. Next to him an older woman in a Resistance uniform she thinks she met on D’Qar and others in similar outfits too, though less familiar. There is a man with a white beard, who is dressed in fine robes and to his right Rey's drinking partner, Princess Isolde, skin pale as her hair and her gown a matching silver. And at the center of them all, the General, Leia Organa, wrapped in a deep purple coat and still sitting with arms resting on the table’s edge.

Her eyes meet Rey’s and Rey does not look away. She raises her chin higher. Ben stands beside her, a towering presence of reassurance. She will reassure him. They will endure this together.

Ben waits for the knights, Hux and Wylde to find their chairs. Rey sits on Ben’s right and Ersn, Vadanav and Hux line up to the right of her, in that order. Alec stands on Ben's left, followed by Pular, Malaak and Cescan Wylde. The six Imperial guards stand behind them all with arms extended and spears held out.

"You may be seated," Ben says, and the room obeys. Leia smiles. Rey caresses Ben’s face with the Force and feels him ripple with anger.

What must we look like? Rey thinks. The last Force users in the galaxy. The last Jedi on the side of the Sith. And when she looks at Leia, she reminds herself, I am here because of them.

Cescan Wylde rises after sitting for barely a moment. His chest is puffed out like a Malodon bird of paradise while he speaks. "Welcome esteemed members of the Core Delegation. We are here today—"

A voice interrupts him. "We know why we are here." Poe Dameron stands too. "We are here to oppose the systematic and violent usurpation of entire systems, the tyranny and oppression of the First Order, that evil which ordered the destruction of the entire Hosnian system, the killing of billions, all pursuant to the will and declaration of the brutal dictator Snoke—" Rey senses Hux start to get out of his seat, knocked back by a wave of the Force, presumably from Vadanav "—whose crimes have been validated and perpetuated by the former Jedi turned traitor known as Kylo Ren—"

"Careful, Captain," Alec says. Rey feels an unsettling calm cover the room, as if someone were casually holding a blade to all their throats. "We might get the impression you're starting to like us."

Poe takes a step back. He struggles to speak, and it is clear Alec is not making the task easy for him. "We… we h-have come to negotiate terms."

"Terms of what?" Alec says.

"Peace," Leia answers, speaking for the first time.

Alec smiles. "Ah, peace. What a lovely fiction. Please continue."

The bearded man in fine robes stands now.  
  
Who is he? Rey asks Ben.

Basta Shan, he tells her. Former Senator. Long-time ally of my mother.

Trustworthy?

None of them are.

Rey wrinkles her brow. She is not yet ready to agree.

"My Lord, forgive the zeal of my colleague," Shan says. His face is open and inviting. "We come with glad tidings that we hope will lead to a more secure and prosperous future for us all. We propose the uniting of our causes through marriage. Princess Lin of Gatalenta has pressed her suit and sought favor in the Emperor's eyes. And how could she not?" Shan smiles down fondly at Isolde. "There is not a fairer or more pleasing creature in all the galaxy."

Isolde looks straight ahead; Rey hears a loud thud. Malaak has upset a pot of caf between him and Wylde. A floating droid scurries in to clean up. Alec waits until it is done. "You were saying?"

"There must be marriage, a union of houses. There must be a bloodline to carry on leadership. Two supreme rulers we have had now, neither with a rightful heir, both with attempts at insurrection leading to chaos in the succession—"

"With both attempts being led by your band of traitors," Hux says.

"Which brings us to the military." It is the woman Rey recognizes from D’Qar. "The First Order fleet must be drawn down. We want an eighty percent reduction within five years. There will be no further acts of aggression. It will serve as a peacekeeping force, its mission to settle local conflicts and prevent war—"

Hux is on his feet before the Force can stop him. "How dare you presume to lecture us in war! You who have brought it upon yourselves—"

"General Hux," Alec says, and Rey can feel a sudden surge of power that pins the redheaded man back into his seat. "We mustn't interrupt our guests." Hux's anger is boiling everywhere and Alec takes delight in soaking it up.

"Does the Emperor have nothing to say?" Leia asks.

Ben’s face is impassive, as if he has not heard her.

"The Emperor speaks to those worthy to listen," Alec says. "In time, perhaps even your rudimentary gifts will suffice."

Leia gives him a look that promises death, and Rey feels Ben wanting to smile.

"What else?" Alec says. He is fully enjoying himself. He is feeding off their hate, Rey thinks.

It is the Sith way, Ben says.

It is gratifying to watch, although she is not sure whose side she should be cheering for. Poe will not look at her and neither will any of the others. Leia does, however; her eyes are not angry, not accusing, just... considering. Rey thinks she would prefer outright hostility.

Give her nothing, Ben says. She will use it against you.

She's not like that.

Isn't she? She's the one behind all this.

His words give Rey pause.

The older woman from D’Qar is speaking once more. "There must be no further aggression, no acts of violence upon the Resistance or upon any peoples of the galaxy. The forced labor laws that take your stormtroopers from birth and condition them must be abolished. Slavery in all forms must be made illegal."

"And what is it that we get in return?" Hux is kept immobile and silent in his seat; it is Malaak who snaps. "You neuter us like a dog and you expect our thanks?"

"You will get peace," Leia says, looking only at Ben. "An end to the conflict that has plagued this galaxy for half a century."

"And centralized power?" Pular asks. His voice is so quiet that all lean forward to hear.

"It will remain with the Emperor," Shan says. "Provided there is a provisional board of governors who can advise on the various systems."

"You think to give us a parliament?" Alec says.

"No," he says. "It has been tried before. We know the Emperor will never allow it and so we do not ask. The board will serve in an advisory capacity only. So long as there is a stable bloodline and order of succession within the Emperor's own house."

Alec considers. "And what does… what was the phrase—the fairest and most pleasing creature in the galaxy have to say about this?"

All eyes turn to Isolde. She stands, timidly, but holds her head high. "I will consent to marry the Emperor if it is in the name of peace."

"How romantic," Alec says. A vibrating disturbance in the Force is coming from the direction of Malaak. "Well, my dear insurrectionists, you give us much to consider. If you would be so kind as to—"

"Wait," Poe says. "There is one more thing." He rises from his chair, palms flat on the table. "We want the Jedi."

"Me?"

Poe does not look at her, and this wounds Rey more than she can say. "With the alliance secure, her presence is no longer necessary—"

The Emperor stands, and the room falls silent. The menacing cold Alec managed before is spring in comparison to the bleak winter that surrounds them now. "The Jedi has a name," his voice is low and deadly; in this moment Rey almost believes that he could kill with a single word. "She is the Lady Rey of Jakku. She is Confessor of the Knights of Ren and chief among my counselors. And the Lady shall do as she wishes."

"My Lord, I apologize." Poe bows as if the effort pains him, which it most likely does. The color has drained from his face, and Rey suspects he is struggling against the Force as he continues. "This part is nonnegotiable. The Confessor… must return."

No, Rey thinks, and she can feel Ben reach out to her through their bond. No, I don't want to—

You do not have to do anything you don't want. I will kill them all first.

"Gentlemen," Alec says. He nods to Leia and Isolde and the officers from Q'Dar. "Ladies. As fascinating as this has been, I fear the Emperor must attend to other business. You may await his answer in the quarters provided for you."

* * *

"We should slaughter them all!"

Rey watches as Malaak paces like a wild animal. She, Ben and the knights have retreated to a small audience chamber. They are all seated, save for the hulking tattooed one who appears more agitated than the rest.

"But not the pretty one," Ersn says. "Did I get that right?"

Malaak throws a chair in his direction.

"Gentlemen—" Alec attempts.

"Enough." Ben speaks and all listen. He looks at Rey and she voices her thoughts.

"Why do they want me? Why do they want me to go with them?"

"They think you a traitor," Ersn says, "from what I could read of them. They think to have you stay undermines their cause. They wish to learn your secrets."

"All of them think that?" she says. "Even Poe and Leia?"

"The Emperor's mother I could not read clearly. She has some skill with blocking her mind. But the rest of them, yes."

Rey grips the arms of her chair. A traitor, she thinks. This sickness feels worse than her hangover did. "They want me as a prisoner. I will not… I cannot—"

"No." Alec and Ben speak in unison. Something passes between them, and Alec is the one who continues. "You aren't going with them. We will not let them take you."

"But the cause of peace…" she says to them all. And your marriage… she says to Ben.

"Were they lying?" Ben asks of Ersn. "If we make this treaty, will they breach?"

"I could sense no duplicity, my Lord."

"Hux will not go easily with the military reduction," Alec says.

"But it would be a way to reduce his influence."

"Or you could just kill him," Malaak mutters.

"Must you kill everyone who isn't beautiful and blond?" Vadanav says.

Another chair is hurled across the room; it splinters like matchsticks.

"Pax!" Ben shouts, and the strength of his voice is enough to bend the walls. "I want an end to the wars. I want stability for our rule. If any of you can present an alternative, then say it now."

Pular looks at him thoughtfully. "Why now is peace so important? Long ago you said the galaxy needed cleansing." Alec is watching Ben carefully.

"We have cleansed enough," Ben says. "It is time to use our power for good."

Vadanav frowns. "But we could end them. Easily. Why should we capitulate?"

"We must become more than warriors."

Ersn does not look pleased to hear this. "You sound like a Jedi," he says quietly.

"I sound like a man who sees reason," Ben snaps. "Do not let religious fervor cloud your judgment—or you will be no better than Hux."

"So you are willing to go through with this?" Alec says. "Is peace no longer a lie, brother?"

"No."

The word isn't spoken by Ben.

The thought escapes before it is fully formed but she knows it is the right one and she knows she will say it again. "No," her voice grows stronger. She looks to the Emperor, her eyes pleading. "I thought I could do this, but I can't. I will find another way."

Alec stands. "My Lady?"

Ben stares at her. She lets him read her thoughts. No. His eyes widen.

Do not try to stop me. She spins on her heel and exits the room.

Ben does not follow but she hears his voice behind her. Rey, don’t do this. Rey. Rey, don’t—

Too late.

She stalks through the palace to the southern wing, the one reserved for visiting dignitaries, tossing off her cloak as she goes. She cannot afford a hindrance. She sees the chambers she is looking for up ahead, the entrance blocked by First Order guards. Rey waves them aside. She pulls open the doors and charges in. Through the antechamber and into an inner salon. She sees them all before they see her.

Poe is on his feet, hand reaching for a blaster. Rey snatches it from his grasp with the Force in one hand and pins him to a wall with the other. The bearded man and older woman can only turn their heads before they are rendered immobile too. Only one person is left standing outside of Rey’s control and this is the one she has reserved her anger for.

Rey ignites her lightsaber. Leia stares as if she knew this moment was coming.

"I suppose you want to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOODNESS I HAVE SUCH A LONG LIST OF SHOUTOUTS FOR THIS CHAPTER IT REQUIRED ITS OWN ENDNOTE:
> 
> \- Wonderful, amazing, talented Melody_Of_The_River has produced not only this gorgeous [Ben/Rey/Alec edit](https://melodyoftheriver.tumblr.com/post/170914085082/kyloreyalecfrom-free-to-fall-by) but also this [title cover](https://melodyoftheriver.tumblr.com/post/170951542947/by-uselessenglishmajor-on-a03-read-here) (which I will figure out how to post to AO3!);  
> \- Fabulous, generous, talented Ernzo has gifted me with this [insanely hot Renperor fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13688766) that you all need to read right now (assuming you haven’t already);  
> \- And omg the stupendous, prolific, talented Amziedragon has produced not just [one](https://amziedragon.deviantart.com/art/Malaak-731025326) but [two](https://amziedragon.deviantart.com/art/Malaak-731025346) pieces of Malaak fanart!
> 
> Guys, I love you all and I am so touched and blown away by your creativity. Seriously, the comments section of this fic is the greatest place on Earth. You guys have made this experience so much more than I could have hoped for and I cannot stop writing this thing because all your insightful thoughts and ideas and fanfic of fanfic even (not to mention all the gifs!) constantly inspire me.
> 
> THANK YOU!!!!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Omg omg omg omg.

"Awake, arise, or be for ever fall'n."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

"I suppose you want to talk," Leia says.

Rey does. The words burst forth as she pulses with the Force and the lightsaber hums in her hand. "You know nothing. You understand nothing."

Leia gestures to the three figures still unable to move. "You really want to do this with an audience?"

Rey flicks a wrist, and Poe, Shan and the older woman all fall to the ground, lost to a Force sleep.

"Better?"

"You've grown strong," Leia says, glancing casually over them, inscrutable as ever. "Is this what he's taught you?"

"This is what I've always possessed." Rey tightens her grip on the lightsaber. Her emotions are everywhere, ricocheting across every surface, and it takes a moment to rein them in. "A traitor? Is that really what you think? How dare you! I came here to save you—to save all of you. And I did! The Resistance were not hunted. You have grown strong enough to engage in shadow warfare—you ordered the uprisings on Takodana and Endor—which left me with even more work to try and stop the slaughter you knew that would provoke."

Leia surveys her from head to toe. On her face there is disdain. "I saw how you entered on his arm. You have forsaken our cause. You have become corrupted. And what of the Resistance? Shall we go quietly? Be sent to our rooms like unruly children while you and my son decide what is best for the galaxy?"

"Your son has a name. It is Ben Solo, Master of the Knights of Ren and Emperor of the Known Galaxy and you will acknowledge him with respect in my presence or you will have cause to feel my blade."

"Luke’s blade," Leia corrects, "though I don’t want to know how you acquired it." She looks at Rey, mystified. "So, it’s true then? You really do love him."

The emotions behind those words slip out loud enough for Rey to catch them. "You think it is because I am manipulated."

"I think my son has a great capacity for control."

"I know your thoughts and the thoughts of my so-called friends and those who have claimed to be my allies. You would call me a whore. You think he has forced me but what you don't know is that I have chosen this. Not because I was compelled but because he gave me a choice."

"A false choice," Leia says. "I should never have let you go. Given enough time, even a captive can come to love her conqueror."

"What do know you of love?" Rey snaps. "You accuse Ben of control when it is more dear to you than anything! Why was I not brought into the confidence of your discussions? Why was I not treated as a friend and trusted ally? Why instead do you send a fledging operative in to bat her eyelashes and offer marriage? For what? So you can be in control again?"

"I am trying to carve out a path for us. For freedom—"

"And you think I am not? Why don't you ask me? Why don't you ask Ben? You might be surprised to hear his views on the subject."

"Ben is lost."

"That is a lie." Rey steps forward, lightsaber still lit and poised to fight. "It is a lie and if you were a knight I would call you out for it. I would meet you on the field of battle and we would not leave until only one of us was standing. He showed me his memories. Do you think I do not know? I know what he is capable of and I am not afraid. But you were. You thought him a monster. You sent him to Luke in the hopes that Luke could control him where you could not. You thought that if you could crush the Darkness out of him then he would be safe and you would be safe and your precious galaxy could remain. But it didn't. It couldn't. Because you never even allowed for the possibility of who he really is. That he might be different. He was either Vader or Luke to you, and you would not let him be your father. My Gods! You gave up on him when he was ten years old! You think that Darkness is equivalent to evil but it is not. Nor does Light equate to good. Do you know what your brother did when faced with the same dilemma?"

"Luke told me how he failed."

"Did he really? And you forgave him for almost killing your son?"

Rey does not need to read Leia’s thoughts to know them. Her stunned expression is the same as when Rey first confided the truth of her and Ben’s bond. How things have changed, Rey thinks. She is no longer the scared girl who tried to flee from a masked monster. She is not broken. She is so much stronger now, because of him, because of what he has shown her.

"Luke failed his students," Rey says. "He was tied to the Light and he lived by the Jedi code and it damaged the children he was entrusted to help. It was not just Ben. The other padawans who left with him, who became the knights you saw today, they could not live under this false dichotomy the Jedi and the Sith have created."

"And yet a Sith stands amongst them," Leia says.

Rey ignores the reference to Alec; she thinks he may be as one-sided as Leia when it comes to understanding the Force. "Ben is not tied to any philosophy. He has opened my eyes more than anyone else. He is trying to find a way to fix the mistakes of the past, to bring the galaxy together—"

"How? By more tyranny?" Leia folds her arms and stands deceptively tall, a great immovable tree of righteousness and indignation. "You talk of the differences between Dark and evil. Well, tell me the distinction when it comes to this oppressive rule my son proposes. It is no way to live and I will do everything in my power to prevent it."

"Does that include forcing him into a loveless marriage?"

"There are things more important than love. We cannot simply choose for ourselves—"

"You did! You married a nobody. A smuggler, for kriff's sake!"

"And you think I don’t regret that?"

Rey’s arm lowers slightly and she feels the first urge to retreat.

"I loved Han but it was doomed," Leia says, "You don’t think I could have done more with a political marriage? More good? Or no marriage at all. At least then I would not have been torn between my duty and my family. I wouldn't have abandoned my son as you were so kind to point out."

"So, you regret your path?"

"I regret my mistakes."

Anger surges through Rey. "Your son is not a mistake. He is Dark and he is powerful but he also has the kindest heart I have ever known." Her arm raises again as if ready to strike. "I love him. More than anything. And I will not let you manipulate him into doing your will with a flimsy promise of peace. Because there cannot be peace like this. Not with a knife to the throat. You'd use him as a pawn and you'd use that poor girl too. You would enslave them all. That ends today." She points her blade at Leia's throat. "If you stay on this course I will cut you down and I will hunt every last one of your acolytes until there is nothing left because you do not serve the good—you only serve yourself."

"Rey."

It is not Leia who calls her name. It is the man she has pledged her life to, the one she stands ready to defend; bonded and yet she did not feel him enter. She did not sense him at all.

He stands behind her. She can feel him now. She can feel his heart beat and the surge of blood throughout his body and a strange kind of adrenaline, overwhelming in its euphoria. He is a dormant volcano ready to wake from an ancient slumber. How much did he hear? she thinks as his hand covers her own.

He shifts her thumb to deactivate the lightsaber. He lowers her arm and his other hand wraps possessively about her middle; she has to make a conscious effort to stay upright and not instinctively melt back against him.

Rey looks at Leia as Ben stares from over her shoulder. "Do you understand now, mother?" he says.

Leia shakes her head, mouth pressed together sadly. "What is between you threatens to destroy everything."

"And I would give it up because she asked me to."

Rey places her hand over Ben’s where it rests on her stomach. The Force surges happily between them; it is as if a part of her she didn’t know was missing has been returned. The balance that formed between them as they fought back to back; that was lost when they turned on each other with the strength to rend a lightsaber in half.

"You will not give up anything," Rey says. "Not for me." She is cocooned by his arms and his power and his unspoken words.

I heard everything, he tells her. You have made me your slave.

"You are still children," Leia says.

"No one remains a child when they are left to raise themselves," Ben replies.

"Is that supposed to wound me?"

"It is nothing more than a statement of fact." Ben sighs, a long exhale that carries with it the weight of decades. "I grow tired of games. I too want peace. I want to be with the woman who stands by my side. I want to find a different way."

His mother's face hardens. "I have no reason to trust you."

Rey can feel Ben close his eyes even though she does not see it. Can feel him dip into the Force and reach into his mother's mind.

"Han," Rey says out loud. "She cannot forgive you."

"I do not forgive myself," he says.

Rey reaches further and Leia makes no move to stop her. She feels her emotions, feels her soul laid bare. "There is so much pain. So much rage." Rey's voice shakes as she speaks. "She cannot let go."

There are tears in Leia's eyes. "I should have prevented it."

It is Ben who answers. "He chose to come. I lied before—when I said it was only due to your asking, that he was incapable of a truly selfless act. He made the choice to confront me; it was not your fault. He sought to bring me back." He pauses, considering. "And in a way, he did. I thought I would grow stronger but instead I was splintered. What I had once been so sure of no longer seemed certain. My rage turned inward, and it turned toward my master. And when the moment came I struck him down."

Leia cries now, and Rey is crying with her. Rey feels everything, and it is almost too much to bear. Her voice is a whisper. "She needs to hear you say it, Ben."

"I am sorry," he tells his mother.

Leia shakes her head. "No—I am." Her tears stream freely and she makes no move to stop them. "I have grown so used to loss. I do not—" she pauses. "I do not—" Leia shakes herself out of her reverie. "But there is still the matter of your rule—"

"Yes," Ben says.

"It cannot go on like this."

"No."

"It is not just my voice that matters. There is a coalition, the dozens of systems who will not be satisfied until the First Order is gone and something else has taken its place."

"I can give you that," Ben says.

Rey squeezes his hand. She does not understand.

He squeezes back in reassurance.

"The First Order will die," he says. "But there will be no marriage."

"It won't be enough," Leia says. "There are those—"

"I know," Ben says. "But a dynasty is not what they want."

Leia studies her son carefully, pressing through the Force to read him. "What are you going to do?"

"Give them what they want," he says. "What you want," he tells Leia as he shares an image, a memory with Rey.

It is his vision from when their fingers touched, so much like her own but cast in new light. Rey remembers her other vision of falling to the Dark. It seems so far away now, like a half-forgotten nightmare. His words are wholly convincing as he holds her tighter.

You’ll stand with me. But you will not have to turn.

"I'm going to bring back the Senate."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You know that feeling when you set your hair on fire? No? Well, I think that's where we are in the story. Enjoy the ride, my friends.
> 
> (And in Comments Section News™, Shuns wrote an Alec sonnet and it is AMAZING and I will post a link just as soon as I can.)

"Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Ben Solo is lost.

He is starting to think of himself as Ben Solo now. Not the person he was before, but the person she sees. The person she told his mother about. She is in love with that person. It is him. He has to reconcile that. He has never been defended, never had a champion. But he does; Ben Solo has an ally and a friend and a lover who would fight armies for his honor.

There were points in Rey’s speech where he felt weak. He thought he might need to sit down.

His heart beats wildly still. His arm stays wrapped around her. He has not seen her face; she has not seen his. What would she see?

He looks at his mother and he bids her farewell. He promises to discuss his plans in more detail later (plans he has toyed with for the past few days, doing all the mental calculations required, holding an idea and inspecting it from every angle, seeing every possibility, every outcome, like a poker game his father showed him how to win; _how to hustle, my son_ ; he is thinking, always thinking; he is thinking of her). He releases his mother’s companions from their Force sleep. He feels an intense thrill that Rey would do this, that he inspired her, that he taught her how.

She is steady on his arm. She is quiet. He leads her outside. They walk down the long corridor, half cast in shadow and half cast in blinding light from a wall made of windows. They are heading back to the room that holds the knights but they are not. He makes a turn. Kylo—Ben—Kylo—Ben (he cannot decide yet) throws open the door to an unoccupied chamber with a wave of the Force. He drags it shut behind them. He turns to face Rey.

"I love you," he says. She looks at him, her face stained with tears, and he wipes them all away. He kisses her. "I love you more than I ever thought possible. I love you more each day. I love you."

Has he said it out loud yet? Does she understand his thoughts?

"I want you to marry me." He is kissing her and she is holding on, wide-eyed and smiling and laughing. "I want you to marry me right now."

"Are you asking?"

"No."

She laughs more. "That’s not a proposal."

"I do not know how to propose."

"I know," she says.

He picks her up, arms wrapped around her waist and her legs wrap around him, and he carries her to a cloth-covered dining table. He lies her down atop it and pushes up her skirts.

"What are you doing?"

He is kissing her thighs, her knees, her ankles. He is stroking between her legs and dragging her underwear down.

"I am making you marry me."

She cannot stop laughing.

Until he tastes her.

"Ben!"

"Is that a yes?"

"Ben! Fuck—"

His mouth is upon her. He is tasting her. He is licking and sucking and drawing pressure with the Force, applying it to her most sensitive points. She is straining around him.

"Yes!" she says.

"Yes what?"

"Don’t stop!"

He doesn’t. She tenses and the inner parts of her spasm. He laps it up. He leans over her body. He kisses her mouth, makes her taste herself on his tongue.

"That was a yes," he says.

"It was?"

"Don’t you understand?" He holds her face. "What you said… no one has ever said… there was only…"

"Ssh, it’s okay."

There are tears in his eyes. He tries to think of the last time he has cried. There is an ocean now, a dam she has broken. He has never been as moved as he was when he heard her speak of him.

"I do not deserve…" He kisses her hands, her mouth, her neck. "I know I have never been worthy of you, but I need you."

She holds him back. "You have me always."

She holds him and he is sure she has accepted his proposal. She nudges him. Don’t be.

"Rey." Do not joke about this.

I will marry you.

Say it.

"I will marry you, Ben Solo."

"Good." He smiles against her mouth. "Thank you."

He straightens her up and lifts her from the table. He keeps her underwear and she blushes as he crumples it up to shove in his pocket.

"Time to tell everyone the happy news," he says.

"That we are getting married?"

"No." He cannot stop smiling. I need to stop, he thinks. "That I mean to bring back the Senate."

"Oh."

"They will not be happy."

"Who?"

"The knights. The First Order. Hux."

"I am happy," Rey says.

"Then I have made the right decision." He offers her his arm. He can smell her still, taste her on his lips; he has to remember to wipe his mouth as they leave the room.

* * *

"He did _WHAT_?"

The walls of the library shake as Plagueis paces before the fire. The flames have grown a deep purple, as if all the warmth is being sucked out of them, and Alec thinks that perhaps it has. He still cannot get used to the Sith Lord's nearly corporeal form, the yellow Muun skin and the height that forces Alec to look up (a problem he does not have often). The Muun's robes are black, flickering translucently in places where his image has begun to fray. He points an unnaturally long finger at Alec.

"Explain."

Alec does. How Kylo and Rey came back to the knights, the former looking resolute, the later looking radiant and reeking of sex (how Alec had wanted to smash something and carry her off right then and there). How they all listened as Kylo laid out his plan. He would agree to the military drawdown and also to the abolition of slavery, but the proposed marriage was off. He would not be controlled by the Resistance in any way, he said. He would give them back their precious Senate—but not in its previous form. It would not hold executive power, that would remain with the Emperor, who would continue to control the military. It would however have limited lawmaking powers, and the authority to set up courts to handle smaller disputes, thereby lessening the governing burden of the Empire.

Alec recounts the confused expression of Malaak, the stunned expression of Pular, and the distrustful (and identical) expressions of Vadanav and Ersn.

"It was her," Ersn said as his eyes flicked to Rey. "You agreed to this because of her."

Kylo's expression turned venomous then. "I agreed because we must have peace."

"Peace is a lie!" Pular shouted. Alec had never heard his voice so loud but the younger man was incensed. "Do you remember nothing you have taught us?"

Kylo went very still, and the lights of the room seemed to dim. "Because of your many years of service, I will overlook this outburst," he said quietly. "But do not expect me to be so tolerant again."

"He's right," Plagueis says, pulling Alec back to the present. "The young one. The one who has his eye on you. Peace is a lie. There is no victory in giving power away."

"He is set on this course," Alec says.

"It is madness," Plagueis spits. "He has lost his kriffing mind. I spent decades working to destroy the Senate and my apprentice completed the mission. The people cannot rule themselves! They are cattle!" He turns from the fire to face Alec. "The dark one is right. The mind reader. It is the girl's fault."

"The Emperor sees it as a way to avoid marriage."

"All for that useless bitch."

Alec's hand goes to his saber. "Be careful how you speak of her."

Plagueis ignores him. "I've sensed her influence on him from the very beginning. She's unraveling everything I hoped to achieve. She must be destroyed!"

"She will not be harmed," Alec says, hand still on his saber. "You break that agreement and I will end you."

Plagueis smiles, all vicious teeth and narrowed eyes. "As if you could. Not even your precious Darth Bane knows the secret to banishing the dead. Transfer essence? Is that the best he can muster?" He looks at Alec as if he can see through him. "Can you hear me in there, Bane?"

The Darkness that lives within Alec raises its head in recognition and Alec tamps it down. "Bane is not here," he says. Though not through lack of trying. There were days on Moraband when it seemed as if the ancient Sith Lord had taken everything, including Alec’s mind. He only managed to resist by thinking of her.

Plagueis looks at him as if he can read his thoughts. "We must speed up our plans."

"I agree," Alec says. "With the marriage off there is nothing to separate them."

"And with the girl bonded to him there is nothing to stop Ren from bringing this foolish plan to fruition."

"The bond must be broken," Alec says. "And she must be given to me. Do not think to cross me on this."

"You can have the stupid girl," Plagueis snarls. "I want Ren. He is mine. He belongs to me."

Alec knows the story, though not very well. (There are parts Plagueis has not told him.) How Plagueis sought to influence the particles of the Force enough so that he could create life. And he did. The Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker, was not born from any father but from the Force itself. Chosen for what would have been the better question. Instead of being Plagueis's greatest achievement, he destroyed what remained of the Sith, including himself.

But the bloodline survived.

"Why do you want Ren so much?" Alec says.

Plagueis moves to the chair closest to the fire. He sits in it. The flames are slightly brighter now, a faint magenta. "Vader was a weak facsimile," he says. "The first harvest often is. You need the vines to mature, you need the blood to mix. In Ren's case a little too liberally, but it got the right result." He closes his eyes. "Can you not feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"His power." The Sith Lord looks at Alec dismissively. "No, I suppose you can't. It is a subtle thing. A thing of beauty. A thing that, though two generations removed, I created. And mixing with the Light has only made it better. It has refined it."

"Refined what?"

"Absolute darkness. My friends down here would call it silence. Bane would call it exile."

Alec thinks back on what Kylo confided to him. "Is that why he can't hear you? When he's down here, I mean."

"Precisely. He has power over us all."

"Which is why you need me."

Plagueis makes a face. "Why I require your assistance. I need a way to get inside him."

"And to break the bond," Alec says. "You must break the bond."

"Oh most assuredly." Plagueis smiles. "When I am through, there will be nothing left of him but me."

* * *

The desert winds are harsh in their heat and in the tearing sharpness of millions of grains of sand blown like tiny weapons. You must be covered. It takes her many weeks to understand this. To wrap her arms and face with the dirty rags she could scavenge. To cover her legs. She is cold at night and unbearably hot during the day. She is thirsty. She is hungry. She is tired.

She is alone.

It takes many months to get used to the constant hunger. It takes years to adapt and survive, to make a shelter, to earn a living. There must have been at least one year, maybe more, when she had nowhere to make any marks. She started on the dented shell of a defunct droid. Rotting corpse, an old woman had yelled. She didn’t understand that she scratched the days of her life onto a dead thing. There was no room left anyhow. She wandered far until she could find a place, a holed out shell of a larger dead thing she could live in. The AT-AT became her home.

She wanders the desert now, still alone. She is small. She is vulnerable. The bigger people knock her down, they take what she finds, they wait as she climbs into the hardest to get at places and uncovers the greatest hauls. They steal. It is not fair. It is not fair! She has given up crying, if only to preserve water. But there is no use. She could cry all day, all the time, but it is no use. They are not coming. Not today. She has to wait. She has to wait and they will find her. They must have forgotten. What is the delay? Why don’t they remember? It must be something very important they have to do.

She wanders the desert and her AT-AT appears ahead. The sand sinks and rises and moves up and down like a wave. She is not getting any closer. The winds blow. The sand cuts through her clothes, cuts into her skin, gets in her eyes. She is so thirsty and so hungry and so very very tired. She drags her paltry spoils on a sheet behind her. The ground tries to swallow it. Hands rise up and snatch all she has, snatch at her ankles. A great monster appears, a snake with two heads. She sees the faces of her parents. She sees their ship. She sees them coming for her and the monster swallows them whole.

Rey screams. The sky is red. It is on fire. The sand and the hands try to pull her down. The monster with two heads opens both its mouths wide. Long teeth, yellow fangs, green acid poison. She is crying. There is no water left. Her parents are gone. She is going to die. She is going to die and she is all alone.

"Stop."

The ground is turned to darkness. The sky is black. A huge shadow towers over everything. It has the shape of a man. It has large arms that reach down and tear the monster in two. It has red glowing eyes. A low terrible voice that is so quiet it scares everything else away. The wind stops howling. The hands retreat. The sand settles down. The desert sleeps. The blackness rescinds. There is only the sun in the sky and the shell of her AT-AT. There is a man standing beside her.

He holds out his hand. "It’s time to wake up now."

She does.

She is crying, sobbing loudly, enclosed in his arms as he holds her to his chest.

"You had a nightmare," he whispers. "It was not real. You are safe now. I have you."

Her voice is shaking as she answers, "You were there. You were with me."

He was there for the entire thing.

They have not shared each other’s dreams before. He has not seen all her memories from her time on Jakku. He has not fully experienced the starvation of her loneliness and fear.

They have been in his rooms since the end of the meeting with the knights, in his bed since dinner and in each other’s arms since they collapsed together in ecstatic exhaustion. He slept as he held her. He sleeps so well with her near. And the Force had pulled him inside her as if it could hear her subconscious distress signal.

There was a presence in her mind. He felt it. He knows how it feels. He knows what he saw. The two-headed monster. He knew how to slay it from the Darkness.

He holds Rey to him. "It was Plagueis," he says.

She goes hard and cold as a marble statue.

"I could hear him."

"But how?"

"I could hear him inside you." He lays her on the mattress and traps her beneath his body, his arms either side of her head. "Is he still there?"

"No," she says.

It is quiet. It is silent again. He rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

"No," he agrees.

"I am afraid to fall asleep."

He has lived too many years haunted by nightmares, driven to an endless insomnia and too many waking hours left to the constant thunder of his thoughts. Not her, he thinks, and gathers her to him. Not tonight. Not today. Not ever.

"You can sleep here," he tells her, her head on his heart and his arms wrapped firmly around her. "Sleep, Rey. I promise you are safe. You have defended me all day. Now let me return the favor." He feels her breathing start to even out as he lays awake like always. "I will protect you in your dreams."


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: FORGIVE ME FATHER, FOR I MEANT TO WRITE A REAL CHAPTER BUT WROTE 5,000 WORDS OF FLUFF INSTEAD. 
> 
> Oh, and Shuns wrote the most epic and delightful [ dinner party fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13752717)! It has Selena! Selena's kids! Maz hitting on Malaak! Singing! And Reylec feels! (if you're into that sort of thing. ;) ) Please go forth and shower her with love. <3

"Be strong, live happy and love"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Malaak walks with purpose across the east wing of the palace. It is barely past dawn, but he knows where the Emperor will be. The man doesn't sleep, and today Malaak thinks this to be a good thing.

The guards allow him entrance, and he sees his old friend sitting at the wide desk filled with datapads and papers, dressed in the same severe black uniform Malaak wears, looking as usual like the weight of the galaxy is upon him (which, Malaak supposes, it is.)

The Emperor looks up. He inclines his head in a gesture of understated curiosity. "You're up early."

"Thought I could be of some use."

"You're not sulking like the others?" Kylo says. "Lamenting about how I have forsaken the ways of the Sith?"

Malaak shrugs. "I know nothing of politics. I care nothing of politics. You say the Senate is the best way to go forward, then I trust you."

Kylo gives a rare smile. "Thank you."

And now to the crux of the matter. "But…"

"Yes?"

"My Lord, I was wondering. Has anyone told the princess?"

"Hm?"

"The princess," Malaak continues. He prays he does not sound as foolish as he feels. "Has anyone told her that the wedding's off?"

"I don't think so. I had my mother swear to secrecy until we could discuss terms, which won't be until later today. Why do you ask?"

"Someone should tell her."

"The princess?"

"Yes, the princess." This idea is starting to feel stupid. Dumber still as the Emperor studies him for a long moment, a shrewd smile crossing his face.

"Forget it," Malaak says.

"No, it's a good idea—"

"Forget it," he all but snarls.

"No—you should." Malaak moves to leave, but Kylo slows him with a subtle wave of the Force. "Forgive my indelicacy." He gets up and crosses over to where Malaak stands. He look at him, and Malaak feels that all his secrets are being laid bare. Kylo does not utter them, just studies his face with those sad, dark eyes of his. When he speaks, it is almost to himself.

"And you would have let me marry her," he says softly, "if I thought it was for the best."

Malaak stands with his spine ramrod straight. "It is not my place to determine."

What happens next shocks Malaak more than if the Emperor had thrown a punch; Kylo clasps his arm in a firm grip. "You are a good friend, Malaak. You have a noble heart."

"It is nothing."

"It is much more than nothing," Kylo says. He gives his hand a firm squeeze before releasing it. "Go. Tell her."

"You're sure?"

"Of course." The Emperor gifts him with another rare smile. "And Malaak?"

He stops by the door to hear his friend’s parting words.

"Good luck."

* * *

Malaak waits impatiently at the red-lacquered doors. He presses the buzzer twice.

"I'm coming," a faint voice says. His heart is beating wildly. He has to ball up his fists just so he won't have the urge to do something stupid like carry her off (again).

The doors open. "General?—Oh, it's you."

It's hard to tell if those words are said in a good way or not, and Malaak wonders for the hundredth time whether she remembers any of their drunken conversation from when he returned her to her rooms. When she had curled up in his arms. When she had asked to be his friend. He can feel the tips of his ears grow warm, and he's beginning to feel stupid once more and so he blurts out—

"I have a message from the Emperor. Can I come in?"

Forehead creasing, she allows him inside.

She is dressed in only a pale blue robe that is cinched tightly about her waist and puddles on the floor. It looks to be made of silk or some other kind of shiny fabric. Malaak can't guess what might be underneath, but it doesn't stop him from trying and, for a moment, he is lost in speculation. That is, until the princess clears her throat.

"The message?" she says.

He snaps back to attention. "You don't have to get married."

Her brow wrinkles further. "Excuse me?"

"To the Emperor. He made a deal. You don't have to get married."

"But—" she looks stunned. "But the Resistance—"

"They'll still be safe. They made some kind of agreement where the Senate comes back and slavery goes away and to be honest it all sounds like bollocks but his mother likes it—"

"Leia," Elsa says. "Leia agreed to this?" Her face has turned as pale as her hair.

"Yes. Though it's not supposed to be common knowledge yet and I'd prefer if you kept it to yourself for the time being."

"Leia…" she says more slowly. "Agreed. To this."

"Yes."

"I…"

He was expecting thanks or a smile or maybe even (in his wildest dreams) a hug. What he does not expect is for the princess to burst into tears.

She cries loudly, awfully, the sobs wracking her body, and they do not appear to be happy. Malaak is confused. "Is this not good? I thought you'd be pleased to be free."

"Free?" She lifts her blotchy face to look at him. "You think that I am free? You don't understand anything!" She sinks to the sofa and buries her face in a cushion.

Malaak's temper, which was never very good to begin with, slips entirely. "What in the kriffing hell are you on about?"

This gets her attention. She sits up. She glowers at him, the same way as during their first meeting and Gods, she looks beautiful when she's mad. He has to work to keep his face similarly annoyed.

"I am not free," she snaps. "I will never be free. If it's not the Emperor, it will be someone else. My father can't wait to sell me to the highest bidder. At least here I would have done some good!"

"Fine!" Malaak snaps back. "I thought I'd be giving you some good news but you seem determined to make a tragedy of everything. Marry the Emperor. Don't marry the Emperor. Did you ever think that you could just say no? Tell them all to kriff off, for fuck's sake!"

Elsa gasps, whether at the language or the sentiment, he's not sure.

"I'm leaving," Malaak says. "This is what I get for trying to do something nice. For trying to help a _friend_ ," he says with pained emphasis.

Her eyes grow wide as saucers. "You remembered that? I thought—I thought it was a dream. I was so drunk."

"You were drunk, and it was no dream. But if you want to go and cry for the rest of your life go ahead."

"I…"

"So long, princess." He slams the door loud enough to rattle the chandeliers.

* * *

Rey is standing in the kitchen garden of the knights' barracks. Or what used to be. Now it is covered entirely in needle blossoms; purple flowers carpet every surface—even the stone walls. She can see bobbing heads amongst them belonging to Selena's sons, Umir and his older brother Rohak, who have decided that this is the best possible place in which to play. Rey worries that they might burrow too far into the blossoms and never be found again.

"What the kriff happened?" she says.

"You," Maz says. "You have a talent for making things grow."

She and Selena stand on either side of Rey, who has called them here for a specific purpose that has nothing to do with the garden. Unfortunately right now all any of them can do is continue to stare at the flowers.

"But that was three days ago!"

Maz shrugs, "What can I say? You are good." She peers at Rey through her giant goggles. "Did you do anything special with the Force? Some kind of spell?"

Rey thinks back. "No." Not that she can remember.

"Well," Maz says, "I suppose we'll just have to cut them back so they don’t take over. We could start making liquor."

Rey can think of a better use. "We should take them with us." The other women look at her with questioning faces, and Rey realizes she has yet to explain. "I asked you here because I need your help. I'm… moving," she says, and she can hide her smile no longer.

Maz and Selena are brought up to date on the developments of yesterday. Maz listens with a satisfied smile as Rey describes the deal Ben offered Leia, and Selena practically swoons when she hears the details of her engagement (well, most of them. The particularly lascivious bits Rey leave out—though somehow she suspects Maz knows them anyway.) Rey thinks back to this morning, when she woke up in his arms and sent him out the door with a kiss, promising to see him later but also making him promise in return that it would not be before nightfall. He frowned but did not argue, admitting he might not make it back until the following day if negotiations struggled (which led to a demand for another kiss, delaying his departure until well after sunrise.)

It is not long before the trio are outside the doors to the Emperor's chambers, the single box of Rey's possessions held between them; her wardrobe is still in the process of being moved, and only after Selena’s careful instructions to the household droids on the packing and care for each garment. The imposing Imperial Guards move aside as soon as they see Maz.

"My boys!" she greets them, forcing them to bend down to allow her to kiss them on each check. They look like great demonic puppies kneeling for a loving pat from their owner. Rey knows that Maz has spent a lot of time with them but has never asked for details and, after watching this exchange, vows to herself that she never will.

The guards, obedient servants of Maz that they are, let them inside at once, not even noticing Rey and Selena. They stand upon the threshold to the cavernous antechamber, and Rey gives her companions a moment to take it all in.

Maz is the first to speak. "The man likes black."

Rey and Selena dissolve into a fit of giggles. This is, perhaps, the understatement of the century. Everything is the same oppressive color. Black walls, black ceiling, black carpets, black sofas and chairs and desks. Black fireplaces. The room is enormous and the furniture is comfortable but there is no decoration, nothing to indicate that a person lives here, and the bedroom is much the same.

"You see why I need your help," Rey says.

They get right to work. With the assistance of her "boys", Maz orders all the furniture moved out of the antechamber, replacing it with more colorful pieces that she has pulled from Gods know where in the palace. She has them hang beautiful paintings on the walls. The black drapes are taken down from the windows and deep gold ones take their place. The walls and ceiling and floors remain black but there is color on every surface now, softening it, making it more livable. It looks like a home now, Rey thinks, and the thought makes her want to cry.

In the bedroom, it is much the same. Selena dedicates herself to organizing the closets, and Rey finds a small dressing table she moves into the bedroom and uses to hold her dearest possessions: her broken lightsaber, the Jedi texts and Ben's grandmother's necklace. Maz wants to get rid of the carved ebony bed, but Rey worries that may be a bridge too far.

"But these," Maz says, "have to go." She strips the black silk sheets off the bed. Rey begins to protest, but Maz remains firm. "We must live outside the cliché, my dear." Rey doesn't know what that means, though she is past the point of arguing. They too are replaced with a deep gold like the drapes, just as soft as before but warm and sunny as Rey herself.

Maz has the Imperial guards bring up huge armfuls of the purple flowers, and soon they adorn vases on every surface, the entire chambers filled by their sweet, light fragrance. The sun is setting now. Selena is bundling up her sons to go home, and Maz has sent her faithful boys away. Rey kisses Selena goodbye and thanks her for her help, and bends down to do the same for Maz. Instead Maz waves Selena out the door with a smile.

"There is something I want you to try," she says and produces what looks like a dried piece of bark.

"What is this?"

"Molodark root. It has long been extinct. This root was fossilized and preserved before its homeworld was destroyed."

"Why are you giving it to me?" Rey asks.

"I want you to make it grow."

"Grow?"

"Yes," Maz says.

"How?"

"No idea. But I want to see how far these powers of yours go. Just give it a try." She kisses Rey on the cheek finally. "I am happy for you, my girl. I am happy for that brooding boy, too."

Rey misses her brooding boy. She tries something and reaches out with the Force.

Ben?

For a few seconds nothing, then she feels his surprise. Are you okay? Is everything all right?

I'm fine, she tells him. Just practicing. She feels his fatigue. You want dinner? I can order something—

No. Going to be here for a few more hours.

You need backup? She feels bad for not having been with him today, but they agreed it was best to present this decision—to the Resistance and First Order alike—as being the Emperor's and the Emperor's alone.

No, he tells her. Stay where you are.

Okay, she thinks. Come home soon.

She feels him smile. I will.

* * *

_There is no excuse for rudeness, Isolde._

She can hear it in the voices of her tutors, her teachings, her horrible etiquette instructor that her fifth stepmother hired the summer before she turned eighteen. Rudeness was not allowed. Nor was one allowed to show true feelings. A placid smile and a thank-you note was all that was required. But what if the situation called for a note of apology? Heaven help us, the particularly nasty instructor said, but if you have given offense then you must rectify immediately. A thoughtful gift and a heartfelt speech will do the trick nicely. Elsa thinks upon this as she makes her way through the dark palace.

Leia is up late tonight in negotiations. Elsa knows none of this firsthand, of course; she received a note shortly after the brutish knight left confirming what he'd said—explaining that an alternative resolution was being explored by the delegation and that Leia or Basta Shan would be over to see her once there was something to share. Elsa hoped that it would be the former and not the latter. She never liked Shan from the first—and that had been nearly ten years ago, as his eldest daughter had been in school with Elsa. She never liked his smooth words or the way his eyes seemed to linger on her. He was a man of immense wealth and power, and he was also between wives, which was something Elsa's father pointed out on more than one occasion. That's why she was so eager to take up Leia's offer of service to the rebellion. If she had to marry, it might as well be for a good cause—and to someone who wasn't thirty years her senior.

But if the brutish knight was right, then it looked as if those hopes had been dashed, and she was back to where she started.

She shouldn't say brutish. The knight has a name. She remembers it well. Malaak. She remembers being all kinds of ridiculous around him two nights before. She hopes he has forgotten but after this morning that seems rather futile.

Elsa wraps her cloak around her more tightly; she does not wish to be seen. The palace is strangely quiet. There are no grand feasts or receptions; everything lies in wait, as if knowing the fate of the galaxy rests in in the discussions currently happening behind closed doors. Elsa is not important enough to be involved and so she is left on her own.

It is the way of decorations, she thinks. At least it gives her time to apologize.

She has been to the knights' barracks three times now; it is one of the few places in the palace she is familiar with. She knocks timidly on the back door and, when no one answers just as timidly lets herself in. The kitchen is deserted and so she explores further, discovering the main chamber, a long stone hall with a giant fireplace at each end.

Three knights sit around a long table nursing large tankards of a black-looking ale. One is young and pale, one is older and even paler, and the third is dark-skinned and somewhere in the middle by age. It is the latter knight who speaks.

"Malaak! You’ve got a visitor!"

This startles Elsa. The knights have still not acknowledged her, but the older pale one is grinning, his mouth stretched like a ragged yellow crescent moon. Great thudding noises can be heard upon the stairs and a door flies open as Malaak appears, a terrifying looking laser cudgel pointed at the three. "I told you codswallops to leave me—"

He stops short when he sees her. He lowers the weapon and switches it off.

"Didn't know you had a date, old man," the youngest one says.

Malaak turns back upon them with a ferocious glare. "Out," he shouts. "Out, you maggots! Or you'll be wishing for a Sith hell by the time I'm done with you!"

The knights do not move, and, after a great deal of kicking and cajoling, Malaak ushers her out and back to the kitchen.

"Pox-marked moldwarps," he mutters. "May they be cursed six days before their mothers bore them."

Elsa sits at a chair he pulls out for her. The door has been shut on the moldwarps, and it is quite cozy and quiet in the kitchen. "You have a lovely talent," she says.

Malaak gives her a sharp look. "For what?"

"For cursing." Elsa place her elbows on the table, and looks up at him with bright eyes. For a moment Malaak does not appear to be following the conversation. Then, he shrugs.

"Doubt you could learn," he grumbles. "You need years of practice."

It takes her a moment to realize he is joking. She laughs. "Well," she says, "thank you for not cursing at me." She reveals a parcel from under her cloak and places it on the table. "This is for you."

Malaak examines the small tin. "What is it?"

"It's tea."

"Why?"

"Because I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for being so rude this morning."

He shrugs again. Elsa is starting to realize that his shrugs are a kind of language, that he is more comfortable with the movements of his body than the words in his mouth, and she likes that about him. It feels more honest.

"You were trying to be nice and I was awful. You didn't need a first-row seat to my histrionics."

"Your what?"

"Histrionics. It means—"

"I know what the word means," he says, and Elsa blushes at her foolish presumption. "What I meant to say is why? Why is someone as lovely as you so sad about good news?"

It is Elsa's turn to shrug now. "I told you. My father will require me to marry."

"You can always tell him to fuck off."

She laughs. "Is it really that easy? Can we change who we are with a few well-placed words?"

Another shrug as if to say— _it works for me_.

Elsa stands. "Would you like to try some? The tea, I mean. It's very nice."

His brow furrows. "I'm not much a of a tea drinker."

"It's good with brandy." She knows this from filching through her father's liquor cabinet. At this, her surly knight raises his head.

"I have brandy."

"Then go get it."

She makes the tea strong and sweet, pouring a big slug of brandy into each mug. Malaak takes a sip and smiles, and Elsa feels as if she has won a great prize.

They drink for a few moments in silence before he speaks. "You should do what you want."

"About what?"

"About your life. If you don't want to get married and be a princess, then don't."

Elsa places her mug down, both hands wrapped around it. "What else would I do? I'm not trained for anything else."

A one-shouldered shrug. "What do you want to do?"

No one has ever asked her that question before. No one has ever implied that she might have a choice.

"I… I don't know," she says. "I've never thought about it."

Malaak nods. "Time to start."

Could it really be that simple? She looks at this mountain of a man, with his tattooed skin and his forbidding expression and his vocabulary of shrugs, and Elsa decides that she wants to make him smile again. Not exactly a plan for an entire a lifetime, but maybe it's a start.

"Would you like some more tea?" she says.

"Yes." Malaak pushes his half empty mug towards her, and Elsa obliges.

"Me too."

* * *

It has been a long day.

It is far after midnight when Ben returns to his rooms. Ten hours of negotiations with the Resistance, interrupted only for a brief interlude of telling Hux his intentions (and watching the man practically detonate in front of him). Everyone is unhappy. Everyone wants concessions.

He is still thinking about a clause that needs to go into the fledging constitutional draft they are working on, allowing a tie vote to be cast in the wake of subcommittee gridlock when—

Ben finally stops to notice his surroundings.

His first thought is that he must be drunk. Except he doesn't drink. He hates the feeling of surreality, hates the loss of control. And right now, he is staring both in the face.

Someone has come in and attacked his rooms. A horrific, opulent display of color, it has wiped away the memory of all that was cool and black. An enormous painting covers the far wall, a riot of blues and greens and yellows all churning together to form a volatile starry night. Similar paintings grace every wall, each with more colors than the last. Gold curtains hang from the floor to ceiling windows and the black sofas and couches and chairs have been replaced with the same garish spectrum. Needle blossoms cover every surface—their large purple bulbs surrounding him with fragrance and another shot of color into the already frenzied landscape. He remembers the tired tale his mother told of his birth— _for sleep and fertility, Mallatobuck said_ —is this some kind of a message? Where is she? he wonders. She is quiet tonight.

He takes a few steps further and sees her, curled up on the biggest and loudest and most yellow sofa situated in front of the fire. He collapses onto a blue sofa opposite, stretching out and spreading his legs and draping his long arms across the back. He looks at her.

She is a balm to his spirit. Wrapped in a long-sleeved black nightgown, she looks like a small raven amidst a giant haystack. She sleeps peacefully, without dreams—he can sense this now—and he is jealous of her rest.

She must sense him too, for soon her eyes blink open.

"Hey." Her voice is scratchy.

"Hey," he says. He glances around. "You rearranged my stuff."

She yawns and stretches like a sleepy cat. She smiles like a sleepy cat too. "I made it better. Don't you like it?"

"It looks like a pigment freighter exploded."

"It's happy," Rey wrinkles her nose at him. "I like happy."

And I like you, he thinks, but Gods, this is a lot to take in. "And the flowers?"

"They smell nice."

"And the art?"

"Maz picked it out."

Of course she did. "I suppose you've had a go at the closets, too."

"Selena sorted them. Said you should add more variety to your wardrobe."

"I like my wardrobe just fine." He remembers hearing of such things, a category of sentient troubles that he is aware of but has never experienced: sharing one's space with another. At first the thought rankles; he does not like to share, he likes his space, has never had the necessity of having to put up with another, he's an only child for kriff's sake, why does the sofa have to be that obscene shade of yellow—

His must be loud in his thoughts for she is laughing.

"What?"

"Are we having our first argument?"

"We argue all the time."

"No, I mean about this stuff. Silly stuff." She straightens up. "And I like this shade of yellow."

"It’s a terrible—" he stops himself. The luxury of what they are fighting over hits him. Not Dark versus Light, not together or apart, just… the color of a sofa.

"I like it," Rey whispers.

"Hush." He tries to glower. "Come here."

She does. She pads silently across the floor and curls up against him. She is warm from sleep and smells like a better version of the wretched needle blossoms. Her head is against his chest and she plays with the buttons on his tunic.

"How did it go today?"

Ben closes his eyes; his head sags back against the cushion. "Not great."

"But the Resistance—they're going to accept?"

"Yes."

"And Hux?"

"I think he's going to redouble his efforts to kill me in my sleep."

"If he so much as touches one hair..." her thoughts trail off into a murderous tirade that only he can hear.

He smiles. "All that, huh?"

Rey shifts against him. "I am… fond of you."

"Fond?"

"A bit. When you aren't insulting my sofas."

"I would never."

She swats him, and he pulls her fully into his arms. Just the weight of her against him, the steadiness of her heart and her breathing and every care seems to slip from his mind. He strokes her hair. She's worn it loose tonight.

"So I guess this means you're moving in," he says.

She nuzzles his neck. "You're not going to be able to get rid of me."

"Is that my robe?"

She pulls back to look up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "You want it back? I was warming it up for you."

Suddenly the conversation has shifted entirely, and his body, which a few moments before was longing for sleep, is now longing for something else.

"I might need it," he says, voice dropping an octave.

He feels cool air against his chest; Rey is unbuttoning his tunic and he is pushing the robe off her shoulders. Her skin glows like honey. Her breasts deserve a sonnet. He moves to take off his gloves but she stills him.

"Leave them on," she says. "Just for tonight."

He was hard before but thinks he could cut glass now. She works the rest of his tunic open and kisses him, gasping as she feels his leather-clad finger circle a nipple.

She leans into his touch. "If we're going to live together, you need to learn how to share."

He lowers his mouth to follow the path of his finger. "Share what?" he says.

She finishes unbuttoning his tunic. "Your warmth."

"You may have it."

She presses her lips to the side of his neck, to the broad expanse of his chest. "Your body."

"You own it."

She is working the fastenings of his pants now. "Your soul."

"Is that what we're calling it now— _Rey_ ," he gasps as she slides onto him.

She moves, finding the rhythm she wants. He places his hands on her, black leather on sun-kissed skin. She purrs her approval.

He's so caught up by her movements that he almost doesn't hear the next thing.

"And the yellow sofa stays."

"Only if I can fuck you on it."

She smiles and bites down where his neck meets his shoulder. "Please," she whispers.

That is all he needs to hear. He picks her up, the two of them still joined together, and proceeds to do exactly that.

It is not until long after, when the sweat has cooled from their bodies and she's lying atop him like a sated cat, that he speaks again.

"I think we should do that on every piece of furniture I don't like."

Rey lifts her head. "How many are there?"

"All of them."

She swats him and kisses him and ends up burrowed tight against him. She goes still, and he thinks she has fallen asleep until he hears the softly spoken words, "Welcome home, Ben Solo."


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Saturday, lovelies. Now we return to our regularly scheduled space trash soap opera drama (i.e., Molotov cocktails of angst and despair). <3

 

"Abash’d the devil stood,  
And felt how awful goodness is, and saw  
Virtue in her shape how lovely."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

"We require more concessions."

"This point is non-negotiable."

"How do we know that she has not been coerced?"

" _She_ is sitting right here!"

They are in hour four of a two-hour meeting. The Subcommittee on Provincial Reorganization and Senatorial Elections. Each of the Knights has been assigned to a similar exercise in futility, with the Emperor himself being confined to negotiations involving the proposed galactic constitution. This being the second-most important meeting, Alec has been designated as the imperial representative, along with one other. The caf has grown cold and the conversation has grown tiresome, and Alec would love nothing more than to dismember each of the Resistance delegates sitting before them slowly and with great attention to detail. But he knows that would displease the woman beside him and so his hand stills. Unfortunately (though not to him) they have just made the colossal mistake of dismissing her. Alec knows from experience this does not end well. He hopes she'll decide to throw Dameron into a wall for his arrogant condescension.

Rey places both hands on the table and leans forward, as if to remind them all of her presence. She is beautiful. In her rage and in her joy and in the way he can tell she has been satisfied over and over again. The sight of her hurts his sensitive eyes. "Did General Organa not make it clear?" she says.

Dameron leans forward too. "Are you committed to the Dark Side now?"

The contents of the table begin to vibrate. Alec places a hand on Rey’s arm until they still. "Despite her tendency to anger, I can assure you the Lady Rey is firmly ensconced in the Light."

She gives Alec a look that is half exasperation, half thanks. To Dameron, her face turns earnest. "Poe," she says softly, "you know me. I have only ever tried to do what is right. And this is my decision. I can help the Emperor. I can help bring peace and stability."

"The Emperor," Dameron all but snarls the word. "How can you call him that? How can you serve him when he is the embodiment of everything we fought against?" He wipes a hand across his mouth. "I told Leia this was a mistake. We cannot compromise with these people."

" _These people_ are now our allies," Rey says. "And the galaxy will be better for it."

"Allies?" Dameron says. "Is that really all this is? How are you not clouded by your feelings for him?"

"I have never seen things more clearly." Alec can sense her hurt, her disappointment. Her mouth presses together and her eyes dart to the side. She is distracted now. And then a smile appears. "You can have your concessions," she says, "but you cannot have me. That is the Emperor’s order."

Since when? Alec thinks. That had not been in their morning briefing. How could the Emperor have told her—

Oh.

Negotiations continue. The fine print is picked apart until it seems like there is nothing left. The idea of biannual elections loses out to a scheme of rolling ten-year elections and tensions rise over just how much power the newly minted senators will have. The Emperor's position is clear: the local governments can have the necessary planetary controls but everything and everyone must always be subject to a larger imperial infrastructure. And the Resistance are, well, resistant. Rey sits quietly but he can sense how she takes in everything going on around her, every word, every gesture, every unspoken thought. She sits serenely but the Force roars inside her. Such power. He is in awe of it still. Despite his own evolution, she towers above him in natural strength. Like Ren. But Alec is so much stronger now. If only the bond could be broken—

Wait.

Something changes. The will of the room is cast under a spell. He feels a wave of the Force wash over him and he is renewed, he is powerful, he will win this round. The Resistance delegation look stricken; their faces fall.

Arguing continues for a few more minutes, but it is clear the opposition have all but given up. "We will accept your terms," Dameron says at last.

"Then let us break for lunch." Alec rises. He sees the Resistance members out. Only he and Rey are left in the small conference room. Rey still sits at the table; her shoulders slump.

"My Lady?" Alec asks. "Are you okay?"

She shakes her head and frowns. A moment later she is laughing. "Wow."

Alec sits beside her. "What did you do?"

"I got us what we wanted. Ben—" She looks at Alec. "Sorry. I’m being distracted. I’ve displeased the Emperor." Here, she rolls her eyes.

"How? Can he hear you?"

"Yeah." She blushes. "The bond lets us talk." She glances at Alec. "He can’t hear you. Don’t worry."

"I am not worried," Alec says. He is sickened. He did not realize how powerful their bond has become. "But what were you doing with the Force? Something changed—"

"It was nothing." She shrugs. "I just gave them a nudge. Helped them see our point of view."

"You…" Comprehension dawns with the tender touch of a battering ram. He thinks back to when she showed up during the knights’ training in her temptress’s dress; when something shifted and he beat Malaak with surprising ease. It was her. All her. Under the influence of Plagueis then. Alec has been blind. He is a fool. "Battle meditation," he says.

"Ben called it that too."

"Rey, you can do battle meditation?" He wants to take her by the shoulders, to shake her, to drag her from the room and make her crush all of their enemies. No wonder… the Emperor kept this from him. How many secrets? He seeks to use her, to control her, to keep her for himself. He has the ultimate weapon. The ultimate woman too.

"He’s annoyed," Rey says. "He thinks I took it too far."

"Not far enough. We could win everything."

"I don’t want to make people do things they don’t want to do. This was—"

"What? That’s just what you did."

She lowers her eyes from his, her expression ashamed.

"I’m not saying it’s a bad thing."

"You make me feel like a Sith."

"Because that is a bad thing?"

She looks back at him. "I don’t know anymore. You never told me what happened when you…" A part of her wants to touch him, and how he wishes she would, but she doesn’t. "Can you tell me now?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

He smiles as she watches him. "I was dissected down to my soul." He can remember the pain, unimaginable pain, being torn apart from the inside out, and how it made him feel more than he had ever felt before. "I was existing in a fog before then, a kind of stupor. Now I am truly alive."

"I feel the difference in you," she says.

"And how does it feel?"

She holds out her hand. "May I?"

Alec does not hesitate. The warmth of her palm, the firm grip of her fingers. He feels the Light caress the surface of his mind. It burns him, and the instinct is to hide in the shadows, to raise invisible walls. He can disappear now. He can appear as nothing. But he wants her to see him. He lets the walls burn down.

For thirteen days, he lived with the dead. For thirteen days, he was as one of them. The strongest desired to possess him. Darth Bane, ancient and powerful, his bones long turned to dust but the energy from his crypt alone was enough to nearly eradicate Alec's entire existence. He fought back, fought his way out, but a part of the ancient lord remained inside him, a presence that Alec cannot shake, a rotting core that he knows will destroy him eventually, will corrupt his flesh like the great Sith of old. But there is no turning back.

This is the price of power.

Her hand snatches back. She has felt too much. She breathes heavily. She looks at him and he fears she might cry.

"No!" It comes out as a whisper. "Alec—is there no way you can undo it?"

He projects his emotions loud enough for her to sense. I do not regret this. I would do it again.

"It is too much," she says. "What you did was too much. You should never have… not for me." She shakes her head; a tear escapes and she wipes it away. "I am fine," she says, not to him but to the parasite that lives in her mind. "I am fine. I am fine."

"Should I make myself scarce?"

"No." She goes silent again. He sees the confrontation play out on her face. They are arguing. A lovers’ spat or perhaps something more? She sighs. "He’ll get over it."

"He does not like you spending time with me."

"What he does and does not like is irrelevant. I have made this clear." Her stomach grumbles.

"Hungry?"

"I missed breakfast. We had a disagreement."

"I see." He does not. If it was breakfast and she was with him then… Alec does not want to finish the thought.

"There is something I have to tell you," she says.

"What is it?"

They have not talked since his ill-fated declaration. This is the first time they have been alone together since. He has missed her, even if she did not want him. She does not see it yet. She does not see clearly when there is a voice inside her head always twisting, always cajoling, always turning every interaction into a threat.

"Ben and I…" Her fingers go to her throat. She wears the necklace again. She always wears it and he hates how it hangs like a marker of ownership. "We are together. You know that, right? I am so sorry we did not get to talk after you told me… you said such wonderful things and it made me realize… it was as if I could finally see things clearly." She reaches for his hand and he will always let her take it. She may take whatever she wants. "You are my friend. You have been such a good friend to me and I care for you so dearly and you need to know. I love Ben. I am with him. I… live with him now." She shakes her head, smiling at the patent absurdity of the concept, and it is absurd; it is horrific. "And, well, as of two days ago… after I confronted Leia..." She takes a breath and blurts out, "He proposed."

"And you accepted?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She snatches her hand back and Alec could scream. He would scream anyway for this is madness. It is beyond stupidity.

"What were you thinking?" he snaps.

"I am sorry. I know you have feelings for me. But I thought—"

"How are you still so naïve?"

She blinks at him, eyes wet and wounded, but he will not be deterred.

"Dameron is right. You are coerced. Every decision you make is under the influence of this cursed bond. He holds the strings and he pulls as he wants and you do as he says."

"It is not like that."

"Prove it." He smiles at her; there is no affection there now. "But you can’t. You will never know if this is what you want, never again can your will be your own. You will live the rest of your life with the unanswered question: is what I feel even real or what the Force and Kylo makes it to be?"

"How dare you," she is standing now. Alec is standing too.

"I dare. I cannot sit by any longer. You give him everything and get nothing in return."

"You don't understand—"

"You debase yourself!"

Rey stills. "You are hurt," she says. "You are jealous."

"I am neither. I am only full of pity for you."

She slaps him. "That’s enough!"

Rey runs from the room. Alec rubs his cheek. He has touched a nerve, pulled out the root of a hidden truth she has kept buried for too long. Soon the root will grow and she will see. Yes, she will see and she will know.

He goes to the library, cloaked by the Dark. If she runs to Kylo and cries over how mean he was, Alec does not care. Let Kylo come and try to kill him. Let Kylo come and he will sever the bond. Through victory her chains shall be broken. Alec will set her free.

"Plagueis!"

The strange Muun phantom appears, a yellow wisp before the now dead fire.

"I would say this is an unexpected surprise, but you are wholly predictable."

"You knew!" Alec says. "You knew she could do battle meditation. You knew, and you said nothing. Do you want her or him? What is your game?"

"SIT. DOWN." The large leather sofa shifts behind him and Alec is forced into its seat. "Stupid boy," Plagueis says. "Do you really want her for love? It is a fleeting, childish thing. It is as fickle as a whore."

"What do you want with her?"

"I want nothing! I already told you that. I need the Skywalker scion." The furnace suddenly ignites with an eerie purple glow. "Give him to me. You can have her. You can have all her power and her body too and, who knows, maybe over time, you may fool yourselves into believing the silly emotions you cling to could mean something more. I care not for your infatuation. But you will bring Kylo Ren to me."

"And if I don’t?"

"I will destroy you all."

"How?"

The flames grow brighter and stronger, enough for Alec to feel a searing heat. Plagueis seems to grow in size.

"Do not underestimate me!"

Alec is unmoved. "I am yet to make any estimation at all."

His head is thrown back against the sofa. Fingers claw into his mind. "You have felt the power of the Sith from well beyond the grave. You carry it inside you and you would be unwise to belittle it now. I should kill you for your insolence." Plagueis’s hand relaxes into a caress. "But I am benevolent in my eternal age. Give me something I can use, and all will be forgiven." Alec cannot move. He feels the scratch of talons as they sift through his recent memories. He watches outside of himself as the morning’s events play again. He feels Plagueis pause in the moment Alec realized—

"Yes," the Muun says. "Yes. This will do."

The fire vanishes just as suddenly as it appeared, and Alec is released. Plagueis’s visage disappears too, but his voice can still be heard.

"We are done here."

Alec reaches up and wipes the blood from his nose.

The library is silent now. It is dark. He can feel nothing. He cannot sense Rey. He can barely sense Kylo, a low flicker of black flame.

He returns to his rooms and showers. He strokes himself to release picturing Rey on her knees in supplication, begging him for forgiveness, begging him to take her, begging him to place his cock inside her willing and open mouth.

He is spent. He eats. He drinks until he is drunk and ready for sleep. The sun is barely down. It is early but the day is finished. He is done with it. No one comes to disturb him. No one enters his thoughts. He lies atop the sheets of his bed and stares into darkness with yellow glowing eyes that still bleed if exposed to too much sun. Does he miss the blue? The same color as his mother’s. He can see her face looking down, yellow hair like a sun too. How it must have burned in all that fire. And his sisters and brothers. His father already hanged for saying the wrong thing when Alec was only three. He does not remember what his father looked like or what it was that he said but his mother would tell how Alec looked the most like him. You have his fire. He is all fire now. A yellow fire burning too bright and too fast and slipping into darkness.

Alec is woken by a loud bang.

He sits up in bed. The doors to his bedroom fly open and a black demon enters holding a glowing red sword. Alec is drunk and he is still emerging from sleep. There is no fight as he is dragged through the air from where he lies, his throat crushed in a large gloved hand as his body hangs high above the marble floor.

Eyes like bottomless pits stare at him. A jagged mouth spits. "WHERE IS SHE?!"

"Who?"

The alcohol is fading from Alec’s system. His vision is starting to clear. It is not a demon but a man. His eyes are panicked. His face is distorted by anguish. Something important. Someone—

"Rey," Kylo says. " _Where is Rey?_ "


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I tried to write a pithy author's note except this chapter destroyed my brain. Enjoy! :D

"The infernal serpent; he it was, whose guile,  
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived  
The mother of mankind."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

The yellow sofa is surprisingly comfortable.

Ben awakes with Rey draped over him like a blanket, and his robe draped over her. He is wearing nothing but his gloves. Memories of last night amble through his mind, filling it with a delightful haze, making his cock twitch to life and the beautiful woman lying on top of him stir. She smiles as she reads his thoughts and leans up to whisper one word:

"Shower."

Gods, how he loves their bond.

The first rays of sunlight filter through the fresher windows and warm the obsidian glass tile. Ben presses his love against it, her legs wrapped around him, her arms scrambling across the slick walls for purchase as he begins to thrust. They learn that even superpowers and ancient sorcery are no help when one is trying to stay upright and fuck against a wet surface. Laughing, they cut off the water and collapse to the floor, where she rides him until the sun dries their skin.

It is in the haze of the afterglow that Ben thinks that living with another person might not be so bad after all.

Droids serve breakfast in their rooms, as well as the morning's datapads. He and Rey look over them. A huge slate of meetings has been scheduled, and they begin to assign which one of the imperial entourage will represent their delegation. Vadanav will sit in with Hux on the committee to establish the timetable for the military drawdown (the former being essential to keep the latter in check). Pular will supervise the one dealing with the transfer of limited power back to local governments. Malaak gets the exploratory committee to form an imperial police force to govern internal disputes (thus further lessening the need for Hux and his forces), and Rey insists that Ersn should stay with Ben in the constitutional negotiations, which leaves Alec to handle the other crucial meeting—a subcommittee on senatorial elections and the scope of legislative power.

This also leaves Rey as well.

"No," Ben says.

"Why not?"

"I want you with me."

"I want to be with you too. But this is too important and you can’t be in two places at once. At least with me there—"

"Why do you insist?"

Rey places her hands on her hips. Her hair is still damp and tangles about her shoulders; she wears a thin white robe from her own closet that turns translucent in the light. He wonders if she knows how she looks right now. If she is trying to tempt his thoughts.

"Why don't you want me to? Tell me what this is really about."

Ben rises to stand before her. Dressed in only loose pants, he knows she is distracted by the movements of his body, the difference in their sizes. He leans in closer. "I think that should fall to you."

"I need to talk with him." Her voice is a whisper.

"No, you don't."

"I haven't—he said all those things and I just walked away. We’ve not talked since. He deserves an explanation. He deserves to know about us."

"He cannot be trusted."

"He was your confessor!"

"He tried to take you away from me!"

Ben has Rey in his arms. Her hands move over his chest and neck and hold his face. No one can take me away from you. Her words float in his mind, soothing in their reassurance. She smiles and says, "I said yes, remember?"

I remember, he thinks. But you do not understand. He is in thrall to the Sith. The Darkness in him… he is changed. He is dangerous.

How?

There is a fear he does not speak of. She looks at him so tenderly that he can only hold her closer still.

Ben, he did this to help me. Because you asked him to. Because Plagueis is still out there—

"I know." He knows too well. The panic from her nightmare haunts him. He must deal with Plagueis and soon.

"Which is why we need Alec," Rey says. She still holds his face, but her tenderness is replaced by defiance. "You may deny who is he to you. But he is my friend. And I will be with him this morning."

Jealousy surges in his chest. Rage. Possessiveness. "Rey—"

"Poe Dameron is leading the Resistance delegation. He and Alec will not get along. They will need me there. I can smooth things over. Poe will listen to me."

Another man who lusts after you? How he wishes he’d killed Dameron back when he had the chance. How he wishes he could kill them all.

What is wrong with you?

"No," he says.

You cannot kill everyone. And I do not request your permission. I am simply informing you of my decision.

You must not be alone with Magess.

"Why not?!" she yells. "He was your friend, your brother! He still is. You must heal this rift between you. And since you are not willing to do it, the task falls to me."

"Rey, you mustn’t. I forbid—"

She silences him with a look. It might as well be a blade. "Think very carefully, my Lord, before you finish that sentence. This is not some matter of state where you can order me around."

They stay locked in a silent battle of wills. "One meeting," he says at last. "And then I want you by my side for the rest of the day."

She stands tall and proud as an empress, looking as if she is waiting for him to grovel at her feet. He would, he thinks. He would do anything. Please.

"I will inform you of the rest of my schedule when I know it," she tells him. She disappears into their bedroom to dress. Ben looks at their untouched breakfast and feels the urge to flip the table. He toys with the idea of succumbing to all his anger, his lust and jealousy and need, and destroying the entire room. But Rey would not like that. She has just redecorated. What has happened to him? He breathes deep and slow and with a great amount of effort, he decides to let this go.

Rey? he calls out to her. He lets her feel his remorse and exhaustion. It is only you that I worry for. You are my only concern.

She softens at this, the Light of the Force inside her being drawn back to him. When she returns, she is holding a brown silk gown to her chest and turns around, exposing a long stretch of skin. "Help me?"

He is powerless to do anything but. He fastens it up and presses a kiss to the top of her shoulder. Be careful, he tells her through their bond.

She leans back against him. She lets him feel how important this is to her, how important it is that she try and make things right. I can do this, Ben. You just have to trust me.

He wraps his arms around her and he thinks, you are the only one I do trust.

* * *

This meeting is interminable. Ben is past the point of impatience. He ponders a rare and ancient Jedi text that documented the power to manipulate time. Something dangerous and dynamic and not very Light-sided but then things were never so black and white in the early days. He had shared it with the other knights at Luke’s school and they were not impressed. They were never impressed by anything not ratified by the Dark. The Dark calls to him now. He could blow up everything. That would make the meeting end.

Ben! Rey chides.

He tries not to smile. He glances at Ersn, whose concentration is focused entirely on Ben’s mother. She still gives nothing away, Ersn tells him.

She has been honing her shields since before I was born, Ben replies. He wants to go back to his connection to Rey. His mother looks at him impassively and Ben stares back. Let the others speak. They have agreed the basic tenets of a constitution. All the fine tuning grows tedious. He will study it later.

He nudges Rey. Regretting your decision yet?

She is angry.

Darling, what is it?

They think I have been coerced! That I do not know my own mind. That I am a traitor.

What do they want?

More concessions. It’s either that or me.

Then they can have them. You belong to me. Just promise that you make Dameron suffer.

She is smiling now. Is that the Emperor’s decree?

Do you wish to defy me once more?

Never.

She goes quiet, and Ben is once again bored. How he misses her. The sound of her voice. Her very presence. The weight of her body in his arms. He can feel how she sings in the Force, a warm and constant current that merges with his own. He exists only in their bond. It is rare now that they are closed off from the other.

Her current shifts. There is a surge of power. She is annoyed and tired and she is working on the room; tides move in two different directions and the Resistance are dragged out to sea. They are drowning. They are giving up.

Rey.

What?

This is not the Jedi way.

Do not tease when I am trying to help!

You are trying to cheat. If it was suspected you manipulated the Force in our favor, it could undo everything.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—

You did well, he tells her. I am impressed.

You are?

You just took me by surprise. You seem to make a habit out of that.

What can I say? She is laughing at him. I had an excellent teacher.

I clearly did not discipline you enough.

He feels a brief wave of arousal then she’s distracted again. Ben tries to focus on where he is. Ersn is prodding at his brain. There is a point of contention. And something else too. Darkness. It is Rey. She is distressed. He reaches out to her but is met by only shadow. Can you hear me? Rey!

Her presence returns. She is still shaken. Still somewhere in the palace but not so far away.

What happened?

I am fine, she tells him. I am fine. I am fine.

I do not believe you. Are you with him? Let me come to you.

No. Stay away.

Then you are.

He has not done anything! This was my fault.

What did he show you?

Ben!

He was inside your head? You let him—

I have had enough of men telling me what I can and can’t do, what I think.

I know what you think. That is the problem.

Then you will just have to get over it.

The bond shuts down. Kylo is enraged. He is Kylo now, in his anger, in how he wants to break the whole palace apart. He tries to seek her out. He finds a faint hum of contentment, soft tendrils that seek and caress his own Force. He could purr. How she loves him. And then—

She is hurt. She is angry. She is betrayed.

Kylo will kill him.

My Lord? It is Ersn. Vadanav could use some assistance.

What is it? he snaps.

Hux. They are still in the bunker. Vadanav is trying to keep him there until you can arrive.

Gods. Kylo rises.

"Got somewhere better to be?" his mother says.

If only, he thinks, and wonders where Rey is. "The groundwork has been laid," he says. "I leave it to your more than capable hands to thrash out the rest."

He turns to leave when he feels her. What happened?

I told you I am fine.

Let me see you.

No!

Rey—

I just need some space.  
  
The bond goes cold once more. The lights flicker overhead. His hands curl into fists and every bulb blows out.

"Excuse me," Ben says. He does not see but he feels the horror emanating from his mother, the same as when he was a child and lost his temper to destruction.

Without Rey, he is no better now.

* * *

She should not cry.

Rey knows this, and the part of her that is still a desert creature is angry that she'd be so foolish as to waste the water. Especially over him. Foolish, arrogant, kriffing jackass, she thinks. She wants to punch him for having the nerve to say what she feels isn't real. She wants to shake him, to make him understand. She wants her friend back. Her partner in crime, her faithful companion, the one who always listens and always teases and always somehow makes her feel like things will be okay, even when she has lost all hope. The one who held her when her heart was breaking over Ben.

But she fears that friend is gone forever. Now there is only desire. A lust for her, yes, but also for power. Ben was right. Rey groans as she admits it to herself, and waits for the inevitable smugness and I-told-you-so's to pervade their bond. But Ben is silent; he has been ever since she shut him out.

It had not been for long, and the bond is open now. She just needed a moment to herself. She needed air. She needed quiet. But she needs him now, and he ignores her. Even as she cries over another. It is not like him; he should be breaking down doors or shattering walls to find her. Perhaps he is still angry with her, or maybe he’s decided it is not worth his time. The thought is enough to make her cry more, but still Ben’s silence continues.

She goes to their rooms and shrugs off her gown, putting on a simple gray tunic and pants that Selena made to match the style of her old ones. She is hungry and she is depressed; she steals down to the kitchens instead of calling for a droid, cloaked in the Force but Rey suspects they wouldn't notice her anyways—just a nobody girl in peasant clothing. I am no one, she thinks. That is me.

She returns with three containers of iced cocoa—one with almonds and one with toffee and one with something called marshmallow. She makes herself invisible even to the Imperial guards. She sits on the couch Ben hates and feels sorry for herself and eats until she feels sick. Two containers consumed, she pushes the last one away, when she spies something dark on the surface of the table.

Rey leans down. It is Maz's piece of bark. Should she try growing it? Rey has no idea how. But she's not in any shape to do anything else right now and she could use some distraction. Sitting cross-legged, she holds it in her hand and concentrates. She meditates, like Luke taught her, trying to feel the peacefulness of the Force. Grow, she thinks. Grow.

Nothing happens.

She gets a glass and fills it up with water. She places the bark inside. Nothing. She places the glass in the window where the sunlight reflects a thousand pieces of brightness on the walls. Still nothing. Rey consults her Jedi texts. They have nothing to offer on the subject of bringing dead bark back to life. She grows impatient; she grows annoyed. She slams the glass back down on the table in front of the yellow sofa and glowers at it. This is also ineffective.

The sun is setting. Rey looks at the overflowing vases of needle blossoms that stand all around and thinks back to that day she planted Maz's seeds—had she done anything special? She felt so sad that day; all she wanted was for something real, something that wouldn't fade away. She remembers working in the soil as if it were the only hope left, a wish that could keep her alive. Could it be that easy? she thinks. Could she just make a wish?

She scoots down until she is sitting on the floor and the glass is at eye level. She wraps her hands around both sides. Rey closes her eyes. She allows the sadness to fill her: sadness over Alec's cruelty, over Ben's indifference. She lets it flow through her and she allows herself to feel the emotions acutely. She wishes she could make things right. For some small spark of hope amidst the despair. Something to fight back against the void, some little bit of life. She captures this feeling inside her and nurtures it; she allows it to grow strong. When it is stronger than anything else, she releases it, directing it down her arms and through her hands and into the glass she holds. She keeps her eyes closed. She does not move for a long time. She can feel that the sun has slipped below the horizon, can feel that the world has gone fully dark. But she is not Dark. Slowly, she opens her eyes and removes her hands from the glass. And she sees it.

A tiny white root peeking out from the bark.

She gasps and she laughs and she cannot stop smiling. I did it, she thinks. I did it! She has never been so proud.

Good girl, a voice says.

Rey stops. Ben? Is that you? Where are you? I thought you were still mad—

Of course not, he says. I just got stuck in another meeting. Are you all right?

Yes, she tells him. You'll never believe what I did.

I felt it. You're amazing. So powerful, my love. So wonderfully powerful.

When are you coming home?

Soon, he says. She feels him pause.

What is it?

His voice in her mind feels like a caress. You've had such a hard day. I should take care of you.

I… Her heart flutters. I'd like that.

Will you do something for me? I'll be done soon. I want you to meet me.

Where?

In the catacombs.

Rey pauses. But I thought they weren't safe.

I'll be with you. I discovered something. I think you'll like it very much.

Okay, she tells him. If you're sure.

I am. Oh, and sweetheart?

Yes?

Wear something special.

* * *

Negotiations with Hux do not run smooth.

Kylo Force-chokes him and pins him down to a table and threatens to kill him unless he accepts the Emperor’s terms.

That is just during the first hour.

After all parties have calmed down and opted to sit at opposite ends of the cramped bunker, the dreaded details must be hashed out. Hux can keep his title but it is meaningless now. Kylo feels every murderous thought, the bitterness and impotent rage, all the jealousy and years of resentment. On some level, it does him good.

The Dark is sated. It has been a long time since he has fed it in this way.

He will use it, he thinks, the next time he sees Magess.

It is the only thing that maintains his sanity from being disconnected with Rey. He cannot tell if the silence is her doing or an effect of the Force shields Palpatine built into the bunker walls. He had hoped that maybe their bond could transcend even that—it has felt so easy, so natural, so beyond the strength of anything else he has known in recent days. He needs her. He needs her to breathe. To be Ben. To be whomever that person is that she sees.

He could really use her battle meditation right now.

Negotiations are adjourned. No final deal has been made. Hux has not been fully corralled into place.

Kylo does not care. He is the first to leave. He uses the Force to accelerate the speed of the elevator. He exits into the main palace hallway and he seeks her out.

It is quiet still.

Rey?

He rushes back to their rooms; he practically runs. He has to hide himself so he does not destroy the stoic image of the Emperor. Kylo Ren is not stoic. Ben Solo is a mad man in love.

The Imperial guards do not notice him. They did not notice Rey either, Kylo finds when he looks into their minds. Inside their rooms, he sees a strange trail of destruction. Melting pots of iced cocoa leaving messy trails across a table top. A glass holding a strange plant with white roots and yellow leaves to match the still unpleasant sofa. Rey’s grey Jedi wrappings are cast over the sofa’s back. Kylo feels the tracks of her signature leading into their bedroom. Brown pants left on the floor at the doorway, her underwear and chest bindings not long after that. On the bed are piles of silken gowns, delicate lingerie that she has not touched before; more spills out from the open doors of Rey’s closet.

And still he cannot feel her.

Rey!

He bellows through the Force. He must calm down. He breathes in and out through his nose. Nothing. There is nothing. She is gone from him.

Kylo reaches for his lightsaber. There is only the Darkness now.

* * *

Ben? Where are you?

Closer. You’re so close now. Let me see you.

He is leading her to a part of the catacombs she has never been to before. She cannot imagine what it is he wishes to show her but it is quiet; there are no other voices to taunt her, only him keeping her warm and safe. The fur cloak she wears about her almost feels excessive but she wants to surprise him. It took a long time to pick this out.

She follows a cavern that bends round into darkness and then there is the soft glow of a flame up ahead. Rey edges nearer. The cavern grows wider. Candles burn and flicker from every surface. It is beautiful here. How can it be so beautiful among the dead? But he has lead her here for a reason. She is a moth drawn to his flame.

Rey.

She can see him now. A tall silhouette cast in shadow by all the light. He stands before a bed draped in dark sheets that trail to the ground; candles are spread around its base and stacked in tiers of illuminated steps. He will take her down here and she will let him.

You came, he says.

She goes to him. Ben?

Come closer. Let me see you at last.

Rey drops her cloak. She has no fear. She feels the warmth of all the flames against the black silk slip she is wearing. It is short, but how she wants to wear black for him. She hopes that he likes it.

My darling girl.

His hand reaches out for her.

Ben.

Her hand is engulfed by shadow. Rey looks around.

The candles are not candles. Flames glow from inside the empty eyes and mouths of thousands and thousands of skulls. They are piled all around what is not a bed but a stone sarcophagus, carved in the shape of a man. And the hand that holds hers. It is not a hand. It is not a physical thing.

It is not Ben, she thinks too late.

She is trapped. She cannot pull away. A gaunt yellow face grins down at her.

Did you miss me, child?

The shadow overwhelms her. All Rey can see is black.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome to the end of Part 2. I am so sorry this one took so long, but good gracious, there was a lot to do. Lots of loose ends to tie up, and lots of new storylines to start. I hope you like it! (It's a bit nuts, even for my standards.) <3
> 
> I'll just be over here waiting nervously in the corner...
> 
> [OMG THIS IS ALSO THE LONGEST CHAPTER EVER. I REGRET NOTHING.]

"I fled, and cry’d out, DEATH!  
Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh’d  
From all her caves, and back resounded, DEATH!"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Alec isn’t drunk anymore.

Sobriety hits as Kylo drops him to the ground. He lands in a crouch.

"She’s not here," Kylo says.

"No."

The monster is pacing, his lightsaber still lit. "Then where?"

"I haven’t seen her since—"

"Show me." Alec’s shields are more powerful now, his mind near imperceptible to other users in the Force. But Kylo barges in like a fist. Alec lets him. The headache is more than his hangover deserves.

"She closed herself off from me," Kylo says. "I can normally feel her even then. A faint hum. A string tied to my own Force signature. But now there is nothing."

"She could be unconscious."

"It’s more than that. Who could shield her completely if not you?"

They look at each other. Alec stands fully. Kylo speaks the realization first.

"Plagueis."

He sprints from the room. Alec reaches for his saber through the Force and follows. There is no time to even put on a shirt. The reception room of his quarters has been destroyed. The main doorway and half the front wall are no more. That explains the bang that woke him. Kylo always did hate the décor.

They run side by side. Alec has rarely seen Kylo stretch to a jog; now he has to push himself to keep up. They both cloak their presence. Kylo does not object when Alec uses his gift to render them wholly invisible. He is desperate, Alec thinks, and I do not want to anger him further. We must save Rey.

He must save himself.

The journey to the catacombs feels longer than he remembers. Kylo leads them into the main hall of the library but the space is dark; the fire is dead.

"Where?" Alec says, but Kylo already knows.

They go deeper. Alec has never been here before. Larger and even darker spaces. So much haunts this place. Alec thinks he can see the shapes of phantoms through his altered eyes but they cower as the two men pass; they shrink back and do not talk.

A soft glow up ahead. Alec senses a hot flood of darkness, stronger than the alcohol in his veins. It calls to him. Sinister and welcoming and all-consuming. It reminds him of the euphoria he felt when he first stepped onto Moraband. He belongs here. This is who he is.

"If you try to turn her, I will kill you," Kylo says.

He does not speak again. They are in the heart of a great cave now, the belly of a Dark-side beast that keens for blood. The walls are studded with human skulls; light whispers from every surface in their eye sockets and through their fractured teeth and out their dislocated jaws. A sarcophagus stands proudly atop a pile of bones as if formed by their merging together. Plagueis’s tomb. Alec knows this. Not just from the familiar tall figure carved into the top but by the signature he recognizes and the ghostly facsimile that stands behind it.

But none of those things can hold his gaze beyond her.

_Rey._

She floats several feet in the air, hovering above and in line with the carving of Plagueis. Her body hangs limp; she is unconscious. She is pale and unmoving and perhaps she is dead. She wears only a thin black slip, the smooth lengths of her arms and legs, the gentle arch of her throat, her perfectly proportioned face all cast in the same silver light. She has never looked more beautiful, Alec thinks. He has never been more afraid.

"PLAGUEIS!"

The skulls tremble at Kylo’s voice. The flames flicker in fear. It is then Alec realizes that Kylo cannot see the dead Sith.

"So dramatic," Plagueis says.

He cannot hear him either.

"What have you done to her?" Alec says. Kylo grabs him by the shoulder and swings him around.

"You can see him? Where?!"

"Behind Rey. Behind the sarcophagus."

"And he speaks to you?"

"Tell that foolish boy," Plagueis says, "that he may speak when he is spoken to."

Alec decides against such a course. "I can hear him," he tells Kylo.

"And what does he say?"

"He mocks you."

Kylo releases him. Black lightning streaks from his hands. It spreads across the floor. The walls vibrate and fragments of stone and dust start to sprinkle from the blackness above; the cavern is too tall for its roof to be visible. Alec fears Kylo will lose control and bring the entire catacombs down upon them.

"Show yourself!" Kylo yells. "Let me see you! Let me hear your vile tongue!"

Plagueis tuts. "He still does not get it."

"Get what?" Alec says.

"I will not give away the answers when the game has only just begun."

Plagueis’ visage flickers; it seems to fade, replaced by a black mist that drifts around Rey, that soon fills the room. Thousands of spirits rise up, spreading out and saturating everything like a flood of spilled ink. The Force howls with the weight of them.

"Do you feel that?" Kylo says. Alec can more than feel it as the ground quakes beneath them.

Not the ground but the bones. Even more numerous than all the shadows of the dead, they rise up from their piles on the floor and on the undulating walls of rock. They begin to take shape. Whole bodies reform. A skeleton army approaches. Other skeletons crawl down from their shelves, metamorphosed into ghoulish insects, like spiders with humanoid heads. Each stares and screams at them in silence. The light still pours from their mouths and eyes. Their spirits regenerate into the shapes of their lost weapons. They close in on Alec and Kylo, thousands of them moving from every direction, some even dropping down from overhead.

Kylo turns with his back towards Alec, lightsaber raised, the Force pulled taut like a bowstring ready to be loosed.

"Don’t get in my way," he says.

Alec smiles. There was a time he thought his brother incapable of violence. He raises his own lightsaber, his eyes burning bright to the point of pain. "You won’t even know I’m here."

Kylo lets out a huge shockwave through the Force, which knocks the first six layers of skeletons back. The next legions climb over the shattered remnants of their siblings. The shattered remnants start to reanimate too. Alec can only strike and swing with his blade in one hand and the Force in the other. He can feel the bodies of creatures moving behind him through the veil of his eyes. He can predict their movements. He cannot see what Kylo is doing, only hear the destruction. The dead spirits in their bony puppet guises are endless. And all the while Rey floats above like a sleeping princess.

Alec fights his way through thick walls of the dead. They gaze at him with pleading eyes. They beg with wailing mouths. They are not trying to fight him. They pass around him. They pass through him. He flips and lands atop the sea of skulls. He looks for his brother. Kylo stands in the center of the supernatural storm. He is a storm himself, slashing and smashing and swinging with immense surges of power, bones crashing and spraying up like an ocean upon the shore.

The spirits are crying for Kylo. They want him. Alec sees how the shadows try to touch what parts of him they can. Some succeed and their ghosts evaporate, their skeletons imploding into inert heaps. They are nearly piled up to his shoulders in their urgency to reach him, climbing over each other to get close. Kylo is being consumed, swallowed up by the masses. He sinks beneath the sea of bony bodies like a drowned man lost to its depths.

"Kylo!"

He is in too deep to hear him now. Alec calls out through the Force, the only option he has left.

Brother!

There is nothing at first. They cannot communicate like this. Alec has never been adept at such skills but Kylo is. Let him hear him. Let him speak—

You must save her.

No, Alec says. Just listen to me. They want you. They seek you out for a reason. The ones that touch you… you kill the dead.

Kylo goes quiet. His Force signature remains. The faint red glow of his saber can be seen from within the heart of the osseous mountain. Alec crawls to the top, cutting through what he can, still fighting off the skeletons that struggle to bury themselves deeper as they try to reach Kylo as well.

Kylo! Can you hear me? Do you understand?

A low voice whispers back. Now I see.

Kylo’s saber goes out. Alec can sense nothing. Then a loud rumble can be heard, growing louder until all the bones begin to rattle. The sound reverberates through Alec as he scrabbles to keep his balance. The screams of so many; they rip through everything.

_Help me! Let me go! I need release! I have waited for so long!_

_I have waited for longer!_

_Set me free! Set me free, O Death!_

Just as suddenly there is silence. The rattling stops. There is blackness all around. The flames that poured from the skulls are extinguished. Light emerges from somewhere deeper. It streaks out through every dark gap between bone. It fills the whole cave like the flash of an explosion. Alec is blinded in that moment until the light instantly diminishes. He turns and sees Plagueis vanish fully now. Rey is falling. He runs; he reaches out with the Force to slow her descent. He sprints over the desert of bones, fragile dunes fluctuating underneath him. He leaps and lands on the sarcophagus, catching her in his arms.

All is still. All is truly dead. Alec looks for his brother. He cannot feel him. He cannot see anything. Perhaps this is the moment he has waited for. He has her; he has Rey. There is no other but him.

(There is not the sense of victory he was hoping for.)

A skull topples. It rolls all the way down to the base of the mountain. The apex of bones begins to shift.

A gloved hand punches to the surface; a black body claws its way through. Kylo appears like a man digging himself out of his own grave. His clothes are torn; he is bloodied. His eyes are black, but they glow with dark fire.

"What did you do?" Alec says.

Kylo slides down the slope of bones. He lands and stands tall, a foreboding presence.

"I gave them what they wanted," he says. "I let them rest in peace."

He looks at Alec; he is drawn to what Alec holds. The Force reaches out and swirls about them. It gathers around Rey and she is pulled through the air with a parent’s gentleness into Kylo’s arms.

Kylo cradles her to him and sinks to his knees. He whispers something. Alec, still atop the sarcophagus, watches as she stirs.

"My love," Kylo says. The words sting. They cut like acid. They ring false and forced. Kylo tears off a glove with his teeth and is holding Rey’s face. He is kissing her forehead.

"I’m here," she says.  
  
"No."

Alec thinks he has spoken out loud. But he has not spoken at all. It is Kylo, his face stricken, his eyes lost, as he says the word over and over again.

"No."

Rey laughs. Her lashes flutter. She looks almost coquettish, held in his brother's arms. She raises a hand to Kylo's cheek, and Alec thinks she means to kiss him, when she viciously drags her nails over his skin. Kylo barely flinches, a hand held above her, the gesture Alec recognizes as inducing Force sleep. Rey goes limp for a moment but she rises again. The lift of her head and neck and torso is unnatural. She sends Kylo crashing into the pile of bones.

"Give her back!" Kylo bellows. "Give her back! Give her back!"

No.

Rey laughs but it is not her laughter. It is not her smile. It is not her eyes.

Plagueis.

Kylo is back on his feet. Alec jumps down. They stand on either side of the woman who possesses their hearts, who controls their souls. She could do what she wants to them, but it is not her any longer. Plagueis is crowing. He is enjoying his game.

"Can you hear me now, my love?" he says.

Kylo screams. He slashes at the bones. He sends large chunks of them flying as he lashes out with the Force.

He is powerless, Alec realizes. Powerless to do anything to anyone while it risks harm to Rey.

"What do you want?" he says, his voice painfully cracking. Kylo has given up; he is broken. He may as well get on his knees and beg.

Rey walks to him. There is a strange sway to her hips. The short slip edges up as she moves and Alec’s eyes do the same.

Kylo stands rigidly still. Rey wraps her arms around his neck. She presses herself to the length of his body. She strokes his face, her fingers running over the angry red lines of where she'd scratched him. She stretches up on tiptoes and licks off the blood. Kylo closes his eyes. Alec can’t look away.

"You," she says, mouth pressed to Kylo’s ear.

"You can have me," Kylo says. "Just release her."

"It's not that simple."

Rey lets Kylo go. She turns to look at Alec. "He wants me too."

Gods, how he wants her.

"Wasn’t that our deal?" It is Rey's voice, but she speaks Plagueis’ words.

"What deal?" Kylo says in a whisper.

Alec cannot move, he cannot speak as Rey draws closer, cruelly smiling at him. "Not that I can blame you. She is lovely, isn't she?" Plagueis traces her hand down her throat to the top of her chest. She cups one small and perfectly round breast. Alec can see the nipple harden and peak beneath the thin layer of silk. "So soft and responsive. So young. So smooth." Another hand reaches down to brush the top of a thigh. It catches the hem of the slip and lifts to reveal a strip of black lace. A flat and toned stomach. The dark indentation of her navel. "How you want this."

"Not like this," Alec says.

"You would reject me too?" Rey stands before him now. She pouts. Her hands rest on his shoulders. They move down over the bare skin of his chest, tracing all the defined planes of muscle. "Is my body not enough?" Her chest is flush again his now. Her arms are tight around his neck. "You can have it. You can take whatever you want. Wasn’t that the deal?"

"What deal?!" Kylo says again, his voice echoing throughout the cavern.

"He came to me in the library, so pathetic and desperate. Crying like a broken child." Rey’s hand strokes Alec’s cheek, a mocking caress guided by Plagueis. "All that time on Moraband and still as stupid as ever. Break the bond, he begged. Break the bond and you can have Ren. Just give me her."

"No," Alec says.

Kylo explodes. Swathes of lightning pour out from him, clouds of darkness and hate. Plagueis’ sarcophagus fractures; it disintegrates.

"I will kill you," he says. "Whatever happens, I will kill you both."

"But not like this." Rey tilts her head to look at Kylo, her arms still around Alec. "You will never be able to hurt me like this."

Kylo screams once more. It is hopeless, Alec thinks. This isn’t what he wanted. He trusted a liar and has reaped the consequences. But maybe Plagueis was wrong to trust him.

Alec’s arms come around Rey’s waist. He holds her close and she looks back at him. "This was not our deal," he says. In her eyes he sees Plagueis; he buries his thoughts away from the Sith. He has known enough of the dead on Moraband. Of what they want and how they work. He smiles.

"It is not our deal," he repeats, "but I am willing to renegotiate." He touches Rey’s bottom lip with his thumb, tilting her chin towards him. His mouth follows and he kisses her.

Eyes closed, Alec prays.

* * *

Kylo understands something now. Something new about his powers. Something that explains all the silence and reluctance of the dead.

They fear him. But they need him too. Thousands of spirits are trapped down here. Not just acolytes of the Dark but so many Jedi, the victims of Palpatine’s slaughter, his grandfather’s gravest mistake.

As he sank to the bottom of the skeleton ocean, he saw visions of children, younglings cut down in their innocence. They came to him and begged for release. Tiny ghostly hands reaching out; they touched him and returned to pure essences of Light. He took them all. He saved them. He drew a dark veil over everything and cut the threads that kept these poor souls tied to this purgatory.

He understands. As he did to Hosna. As he saw in the purity of his Darkness. Death is peace. Death is natural. There is no need to be afraid.

Suffering. That is what is terrible. Living with pain and with horror. He will not let it happen again.

But Rey; his Rey. How she suffers for him now. He can feel her trapped in the pit of a well, locked in a cage, beating and screaming against walls she cannot break. He cannot reach her. He cannot get her out. Plagueis consumes nearly everything. He poisons her and he poisons Kylo by the same. This is suffering, he knows. To be so utterly powerless. To feel the pain of the person you love the most and be unable to take it away.

And then the betrayal. He knew; he always knew. He blinded himself and wilfully ignored how his brother coveted and plotted and turned against him. His supposed love for Rey is a sickness. His mutilation upon Moraband, all the corruption of Darkness that now lives in him—

Alec must be destroyed.

Kylo watches as he kisses his love. It is intimate. Torturously intimate. Rey’s body held immovably against his naked chest. Her own body almost naked—how he wants to hold her and cloak her flesh from the eyes of all others—but they are beautiful together, Alec’s golden head bending toward her dark one, her skin so fair against his. Kylo knows that he is not handsome, will never be beautiful in the way that Alec is. That he will never look as perfect with Rey.

He will go mad, he thinks. He will never recover. He will destroy everything and her in the process. Let the planet explode. Let the galaxy swallow itself. There is nothing. There is no more outside of this.

I am only Death.

Rey struggles and then her body sags; her head arches back but Alec’s assault continues. Kylo will never be okay again.

It is a miracle of timing, the way his reflexes are honed and act out of instinct, that he can snatch Rey’s body to him and strike Alec with lightning within the same heartbeat. Rey hangs by one arm as Kylo reaches out with the other. The lightning pours from him. It is endless. Alec writhes on the floor and Kylo can smell his burned flesh.

I will reduce you to nothing. I will wipe the smear of your ashes forever from this earth.

Force lightning is a power known to be extremely draining. But Kylo feels renewed. He has never felt this powerful. You will die, Kylo thinks. I will take your soul and I will eat it. You will never escape. You will never be free. I will make it as though you never existed.

Death. I am Death.

"STOP!"

Rey struggles in his hold. She screams and kicks and then Kylo is thrown with unnatural force; her Force. He disappears amongst the jagged bones. They tear and cut into his flesh until he repels them with his own Force push. He emerges back to standing. His eyes fall upon Rey. She is kneeling over Alec.

"Get away from him!" he shouts.

"No!" She won’t even look at him.

"Rey—"

"NO!"

She holds out a hand and he is shoved back once more, though he maintains his footing this time.

"Ben, listen! He was helping me! He is dying! He is dying!"

She is leaning over Alec’s body, weeping for him, cradling his face. Alec lies as a charred husk; blood is seeping from his eyes and his nose and his ears and his mouth.

"He was trying to save me," she cries. "He took Plagueis away."

"Then Plagueis is inside him?"

Alec did not tell him the whole story of what he learned. _I understand how the dead Sith work. They have showed me their tricks._ So this was his trick too.

Kylo lights his saber and approaches. "Rey, get out of my way. Let me kill him."

"No!" She snatches Alec’s saber into her hand (is it a power only she possesses? To wield the weapon of any Force user who is near?) She stands and blocks Kylo’s path, shielding Alec with her body. "You will have to fight me first if you want to kill him."

"I can’t—"

"I know. So stand down." She switches off the saber and kneels back beside the traitor. "I can save him." Alec’s body jerks as if out of his control. "Plagueis is trying to destroy him but I know I can save him. I—"

"You never learned to do Force healing. It is futile. He is nearly dead. If you try, you will only hurt yourself."

"No, I can do this. I can… I can make things grow."

Kylo does not understand. Rey ignores him anyhow. She closes her eyes and enters deep meditation. Kylo can sense through their bond how she manipulates her powers, weaving particles together, reaching out into Alec’s flesh and threading all the severed parts back together. Bathing him in her Light. Taking all her hurt and grief and gratitude towards the duplicitous scum and projecting it back into him as something warm, something good, something that heals and comforts. Kylo wants to be sick at what she will give to another so undeserving, but he remains in awe of her gifts, of her compassion, of all she can do.

Life, he thinks. You cling to Life, even if there is nothing worth saving.

She sits with her hands placed over Alec’s burned torso. Light surrounds her; it surrounds them both. Soon the burns start to recede. The blood dries up. It is working. It is saving him. Kylo wants to take his saber and run it through his own heart.

Alec looks nearly recovered. He is beautiful once more. A cool marble statue containing venom at its core. There has never been a more conniving snake, in the guise of sweet temptation while sharp fangs draw back, as a hidden dagger is unsheathed. Kylo is a fool. He is as naïve as Rey. How could you, brother? How could you when I loved you as my own? When I thought we were the same?

Rey lets out a heavy breath. She has exhausted herself. Kylo wants to go to her but she is still doting over Alec, stroking his face and destroying Kylo in the process. I am a fool, he thinks. I am the biggest fool of all.

"He won’t wake," she says.

Kylo reaches out with the Force and smashes into Alec’s skull; he tears through his brain.

There is nothing. Not the Darkness of before that hid Alec’s presence and rendered him invisible. There is nothing at all.

"He’s gone," Kylo says.

"No." Rey cries over the traitor's body and Kylo feels the urge to kill.

"Where is Plagueis?" he says. It is too quiet.

Then it isn't. Kylo watches in horror as Alec’s arm shoots out. His body sits up with sudden violence and he is holding Rey; he has her frozen with the Force, with a new and ancient Darkness.

"You asked for me?" Alec speaks with the enemy’s tongue; it is his truest voice. He stands in one fluid and unnatural movement and Rey is lifted with him. He is another creature, Kylo thinks. He is looking at Plagueis made flesh.

Rey stares at Kylo with terrified eyes. It is the same as the first time he beheld her on Takodana. She had never felt the Force’s true power before then. She knows it now. She knows the Light from the Dark, can see the good from pure evil.

Alec holds her chin with one hand. In his other he holds a piece of splintered bone. The point is sharp and draws a pinprick of blood at her throat. "Precious child," he says, nuzzling her ear like a lover, "you are a miracle."

"Let her go." Kylo is willing to beg. He is willing to do anything. He drops his own saber. "You said that you want me."

No! Rey cries out across their bond. She is unable to talk; her eyes hold his beseechingly.

Just let me do this.

Please Ben, don’t; you can’t! He wants us both.

I will not let him have you.

You don’t understand. I saw his intentions when he was inside me. He wants to possess you, but it won’t work unless you allow it. If you do, he will use the bond to control me again. You have to trust me—I can free myself.

He can feel as she struggles against Plagueis’ hold. She is gathering the Force, gathering it slowly. When the time is right, it will break Alec in half.

"Plagueis, take me!" Kylo says. "Let her go!"

"But she is so special." Alec’s face is still pressed to Rey’s cheek. Plagueis breathes her in. "So powerful. So beautiful. Yes. Do you know that the Force made you?"

Rey keeps her gaze on Kylo. I will be okay, she says.

Will you be quiet? You do not get to sacrifice yourself.

And you do?

"How did it make her?" Kylo says. He is genuinely curious. He knows only of his grandfather. Rey had two parents. He saw it when their hands touched for the first time. She was biologically made.

"She came when the Force called for her. It could not decide on the who and where of her beginnings; but the moment? Yes."

When? Rey says. She still cannot talk, but Kylo feels her desperation, how she wants to know; how she craves to be more than nothing.

"Tell her," Kylo says. "She does not know her own birthday. Tell her when. Give her something she deserves."

"It is not your birthday, my dear. It is the date of your creation. The exact moment you were conceived."

"How can you know?"

"How can I know? Is there anyone else who understands more about midichlorians? It was my lifetime’s work. I can date any being."

"Then when?"

Plagueis names the day. Kylo feels an implosion inside. He knows this day too; he knows the exact moment. It changes everything. But he cannot think about it now.

"Release her," Kylo says. "Set her free and you may have me."

"Yes?"

"No!" Rey breaks free of her hold. She sends Alec flying back. She reaches out and calls for his saber. It ignites instantly, and she drags him back to her with the Force, pointing the tip at Alec's throat.

"You will leave him," she tells Plagueis. "You will leave him now."

"And go where?" Plagueis smiles. "Back into your mind? Into your precious Ben's?"

"You will leave here and never come back," she says.

"Kill him!" Kylo yells. "You must strike him down. It is the only way."

She hesitates. Kylo can feel it, and his heart begins to shatter.

"Rey—"

"What delightful tragedy. Such pathetic irony," Plagueis says. "Your sweet, beautiful Jedi can’t bring herself to kill a man who would betray her so heinously. So intimately." He smiles as he sees the tears roll down Rey’s face. "You do not have to hide it, child. I saw it when I was inside you. You love him," he says as if pronouncing it as fact. "He is not your Emperor, but he is your knight. You would not marry him, no, but you would… keep him close? What do you keep him for?"

"Ben—"

"You must kill him," Kylo says.

"But she can’t." Plagueis as Alec moves closer, the blade of the saber almost touching his skin. "Such compassion. It will be your doom, little Jedi."

"Rey, get away from him!"

Always too late; Plagueis is right. He has Rey back in a Force hold, Alec’s saber now aimed at her heart.

"Tell me, for I know nothing of Jedi ways. Is treachery in thought the same as in deed? Or does it only count if you spread your legs?"

"Silence!" Kylo roars. "You will let her go or I promise—"

"You are in no position to promise anything. You call yourself Emperor?" Plagueis sneers. "You are but a child. A patricidal one, yes, but it is I who made you. As surely as I made Anakin Skywalker. But he was too weak for my purposes. You are too weak as well. Weak in your love. In your simple, greedy hearts. Though it matters not; that can all be erased. And your other powers are far too wonderful to ignore. You know that now? You can sense them?"

"Yes." Kylo’s voice is lost to a whisper.

"And what of your betrothed—she is your betrothed, right? I did not miss that part?"

Tears still pour down Rey’s cheeks, even as she cannot talk. Kylo looks at her and he does not know if she cries for him or for Alec, but he cannot stand to see her in pain.

"It's okay," he tells her. He gets down on one knee. "You can have me, Plagueis. But let her go."

Rey is released. She falls to ground and lands on all fours. They stare at each other. She screams at him loud enough that it rattles all the bones.

"No! Ben, don’t do this! Please!"

How she begs him as she did in Snoke’s throne room before. But he knows his path. There is no uncertainty now. She has led him on this noble course.

Plagueis laughs with Alec's voice. "Oh, to be stupid and in love. You two have provided me with such entertainment these past few months. Honestly, I shall be sorry to see you go."

"I love you," Ben tells her.

"Don't leave me," she begs.

He shakes his head. "I will never leave you. I will find you again."

_I will always find you._

Plagueis in Alec’s body now steps between them. "You must let down your walls," he says.

"Ben, don’t!"

Kylo does. He waits. Plagueis smiles with Alec's face, and then Alec's body crumples, dropping as if all the strings have been cut.

A cold presence surrounds Ben and seeps into his skin. He can hear Rey scream his name for a final time and all he sees is black.

* * *

The child takes his hand and leads him down a long passage. A corridor of glass and mirrors. There is too much Light here. It is more than he was expecting.

"Where are we going?" Plagueis says.

"Don’t you want to see where I sleep? You will like it there. You can make yourself at home."

Ah, yes. How obvious. The deepest part of the man’s subconscious is the safe haven he kept as a small boy. He will like it there. He will keep it Dark and unforgiving and he will make sure to paint his mark over every surface. He will own this being from the very inside out.

"Not much further," the boy says.

There are other corridors of red and gold with chained up doors and more rudimentary structures of splintered wood that shake from violent growls. There is so much to explore. So much power. So much potential. Just let him find the Light part first. Let him snuff it out.

"Almost there."

A great door up ahead. Of crystal like diamonds with thousands of butterflies hovering over it. What a strange child. What a pure and beautiful thing that Plagueis must destroy.

"My Hosna lives here," the boy says. "Would you like to meet her?"

The boy opens the door, despite his diminutive size. As they enter, Plagueis must stoop to follow. It is a child’s door now, a child’s bedroom. A blue woman sleeps on a simple white bed.

"She is sick," the boy says.

"What is wrong with her?"

"You must ask her."

He approaches the bed. If this is the thing he must snuff out to fully take control then it will be no effort. He reaches out towards the strange blue face. The woman’s eyes open.

Her eyes are pink; they bleed. Her mouth stretches wide into a black fanged mouth. A serpent’s tongue emerges.

"This is my Babá’s room!"

A great blue paw wraps around his wrist. The woman grows in size. Her belly splits open. Snakes and insects and rotten carcasses pour out. The boy stands behind him and he is laughing. The insects crawl into Plagueis' nose and mouth, into every orifice they find. He is blind. He is swarmed. He surges out with all his power.

"You are not welcome here," the woman says.

"You cannot stop me!"

His power extends in every direction. He breaks down all the walls. He stands in a snowy forest with the boy. The boy is dressed in black. He is taller now. He is become so tall. He stands higher than the trees. His face is hidden behind a mask.

"I do not fear you!" Plagueis says.

"But you should," the giant says. "Do you know where you are?"

"This is my realm now."

"This is my mind." The giant lights a huge saber. It swings and slices all the trees down. The earth splits apart. The giant removes his mask and his face is split too. A red and bloody wound that extends as far as his neck and into his shoulder. There is a gap in his ribs. A red and bloody heart beats inside.

"Can you eliminate this?" The giant reaches in and pulls the heart out. "Don’t you want this?"

"You cannot trick me."

"I am not lying to you." The giant shrinks down. He is a man. He is a child. He is the grandson of Vader and the apprentice of Snoke. He is Death and all the terrible things that they warn younglings about.

"Take it," Kylo says. "You must eat this now."

"No. You cannot control me."

"Do you know what you did?" Kylo smiles. His mouth appears as a laceration. His scar bleeds. There is so much Darkness that Plagueis must step back. "I have lived with another in my mind since before I was born. I can make you feel very welcome," he says. "But I can also destroy you."

"No!"

"Why don’t you embrace me, father?"

Now they stand on a bridge. There is lava below.

"I thought you made me."

"I did not make this."

"You will like it here." Kylo holds out his saber. He spreads his arms wide. "You will like it here for a very long time."

Strong arms wrap around Plagueis and they are falling together. Falling into darkness. Into nothing. Kylo is dissecting him atom by atom.

Piece by piece, every part of his essence. The boy and the man and the monster, they are ripping him up, they are feasting on him, laughing, smiling, sinking into the lava.

"A tragedy! A tragedy!"

There is light and heat, so much lightness at the end. The Light is blinding. It is all he can see.

Plagueis the Wise dies for another eternity, forever haunted by the whisper of a name.

* * *

_Rey._

She opens her eyes. There is brightness overhead. She blinks. There is no more cavern. There are no more bones. She lies in a soft, white bed. She can see daylight outside. A strong hand holds tightly to one of her own. A large shadow.

She turns her head and she can see him.

"Ben!" her voice is barely a whisper. "You came back to me."

His eyes look dark and haunted. He kisses her hand. "I promised I would."

"What happened?"

"I took Plagueis inside me. Once he was there, I was able to destroy him."

"How?"

"I…" he falters. "I… can kill the dead."

She thinks back to the cavern. She replays the entire scene with Plagueis in her mind. Of course, she thinks. Of course. You knew all along. You saved us, Ben; you saved us all.

He looks at her, unresponsive.

Ben? She reaches out. There is only silence.

"The bond," she says. "Why can’t I feel it?"

"I am sorry," he says.

No. No! Where is it? Ben! Why can’t I feel you? Why can’t I—

"Forgive me, Rey." A tear slips down her cheek. A matching one falls down his as well.

 _Ben._ There is a missing piece inside her. Like a phantom limb, amputated but never forgotten. She is seeing the world without color. All is drained to black and white.

It is gone, she thinks. It is gone. He came back to her. They are together, but infinity lies between them now.

The bond is no more.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: What would a Space Trash Soap Opera be without some obligatory medical drama?
> 
> I do not know cos I would never leave you hanging. Welcome to Sith General Hospital!
> 
> Also SHOUT OUT! Firstly, to Melody_Of_The_River, who created [another gorgeous mood board](https://melodyoftheriver.tumblr.com/post/171597492587/free-to-fall-by-kylesnotwrong), this time inspired by Chapter 32. Please send all the love her way! And to the multitalented Shuns, who gifted us all with another amazing poem, which you can find in the comments to last chapter. <3

"Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat,  
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe  
That all was lost."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Elsa wakes to an earthquake.

She had never felt one until her fifth year away from home; at the boarding school she attended on Hosnian Prime. A Cataclysm Mark 6, as recorded in the modern system. It woke her then too. Her roommate, a serene Togruta, fell to her knees and began to pray, certain that it was the end times. Elsa looked outside and could still see daylight; according to the legends of her people, the end of all things would come only in pure, impenetrable darkness. Eschatological questions answered, she ventured out to seek the earthquake’s source and was knocked unconscious by an aftershock for her foolishness.

Now, Elsa understands. She runs to the large doorway between her bedroom and the reception area and waits for the tremors to stop. She looks to the windows and sees the black of night. Is this how all things end, she wonders. Will anyone else be left? It is quiet for what feels like an unbearably long time and then… voices. She exhales in relief. She is not ready to die just yet.

She grabs a robe and ties it hastily around her nightgown before heading into the hallway. The guards normally stationed by her rooms are gone. Household droids are scurrying in different directions; she follows the nearest one down a corridor that leads to the heart of the palace. As she rounds the corner, she collides with a wall.

The wall moves. "Princess?" It talks as well and has arms that reach out to steady her.

Elsa looks up. "Sir Malaak?"

The large knight studies her with his hands still at her shoulders. He frowns. "Are you okay?"

"Are you?" she says. "What has happened?"

"I don’t know." He seems to remember that he is holding her and maybe he shouldn’t (she does not mind and thinks that if an aftershock strikes, she would not be hurt with his arms around her). His hands drop. "The Force… there was… I have never felt anything like it."

Elsa’s knowledge of the Force only comes from what Amilyn taught her. She has no affinity with its power and neither did her stepmother, but Amilyn believed in the Light and in goodness and in the strength of this ancient and mystical notion to aid in the fight to overcome any evil.

Is this evil now? Elsa thinks an earthquake cannot be good. It is dark outside. She can see no light.

"The Emperor," Malaak says. His gaze has grown distant and he blinks; there is something Elsa cannot see or hear. "The Emperor is in trouble. I must go to him."

"Where? I will come with you—"

"No, it is not safe. Go back to your rooms."

"I don’t want to be alone right now."

He looks torn between staying with her and going to where he is needed, and she smiles. "It is okay. I will find General Organa."

"Stay safe," he tells her, and she watches as her brave knight stalks off to an unknown battle.

Elsa knows her way to where the Resistance is staying. She passes more droids and several uniformed soldiers of the First Order. They all seem to ignore her, as they always do. She is of no consequence, not when the end of all things might be afoot. That is until she reaches the hall that leads to Leia’s rooms and two of the tall and intimidating Imperial Guards of the Emperor move to block her way.

"Boys," a familiar voice says. "She’s with me."

They step aside as Maz steps between them. "Did you feel it, child?"

"The earthquake? Yes."

"Not the earthquake. That is just a symptom. It is the Force; it is crying." Maz takes Elsa’s hand and drags her towards Leia’s rooms. "She needs us. It is good that you came."

More guards let them through. Security is higher in this sector. Elsa presses a buzzer to the rooms (since Maz is too short to reach it); a male voice asks who they are and Elsa gives her full name.

The doors slide open. Poe Dameron appears, looking disheveled and agitated. His expression softens as it lands on Elsa (something similar happened the first time they met and she found his inarticulateness annoying). "Princess," he says. His stance relaxes to reveal a blaster hidden behind his back.

Elsa straightens and adopts her most regal tone. "The General. We wish to see her. Is she okay?"

Poe shakes his head as he shows them inside. "The guards won’t tell us anything. I thought the palace must be under attack, but she said it’s not an outside presence. That’s all she said." He sighs.

The entire Resistance contingent is gathered in the main reception room, all except Leia.

"Through there," Poe says and points towards an open doorway.

Elsa and Maz enter a darkened bedroom. Leia sits on the edge of an unmade bed.

"Salah," Maz says.

She is crying. "My son. I cannot feel him." Elsa goes to her side and wraps an arm around her, the smaller woman accepting the gesture as she leans her head against Elsa’s shoulder. "My son. My son," she says.

Maz is at Leia’s feet. She takes one of her hands. "The Force will protect him."

"The Force? It has created this mess."

"What is all of life except one big mess? And that boy is strong. You should give him more credit."

"I cannot lose him now. I am not strong anymore."

"Nonsense, Salah. And the girl, you forget her. She would give her life to protect him."

"Rey!" Leia jerks up. "They are both in pain."

"They are not dead then?" Maz says.

"No, they are not dead…" Leia’s voice fades to nothing. She stares straight ahead, and Elsa is aware of more things unseen and unheard.

"I told you." Maz hops up onto the bed. "The Force has a special plan for them. Something is changing. You can feel it, Salah. When have you ever sensed the Force so close to balance?"

Leia attempts to stand and wobbles with the effort. Elsa is at her side, firmly gripping an elbow. She calls to Poe for help and he comes running in.

"The General is not well," she says. "We must take her to the infirmary."

Maz leads the procession, calling on one of the Imperial guards to show them the way. Leia walks slowly, with Elsa and Poe supporting each arm. She is quiet and pale. Elsa wonders if it simply physical exhaustion or a deeper, more incurable tiredness that saps the soul; the seemingly invincible woman has been through so much.

The infirmary belongs to a distant wing of the palace made of worn brick and cracked paint that belie the sophisticated structure that greets them. It is a shell within a shell, glass and metal panels housing state of the art equipment belonging to the First Order. Most of the medics are droids with only a couple of organic creatures, who sit looking bored behind a desk. Elsa demands that they come to Leia’s assistance. They ignore her at first until she explains that the patient is the Emperor’s mother.

"You have a real way with words," Poe murmurs.

"I have no way at all."

"Not the words themselves. But there’s something about the delivery."

Elsa does not know what to make of that. She stands awkwardly beside Poe at the mouth of a cubicle as a droid checks Leia’s vitals.

The General lies still with eyes open and cast up to the ceiling. "This is overkill," she says.

"Humor us," Poe replies.

"It is certainly a joke that our greatest enemy be treated at the expense of the First Order."

General Hux now stands on Elsa’s other side. He is dressed in full military uniform and a black greatcoat. She feels his gaze drift over her body, despite being fully covered by her long silk robe.

"Are you also unwell, your highness?" he says. His tone is different now.

Elsa feels sick. "I was led to believe that the Resistance are to be treated as the Emperor’s guests." She rounds on Hux, hands clenched into fists as she steps close to him. "Should I clarify this with him?"

"There is no need—"

"MEDIC!"

A crash can be heard as doors are violently flung open. All turn, and Elsa can see from over Hux’s shoulder the Knights of Ren enter with the Emperor at their core. He stands taller than the rest, but his shoulders sag and his clothes are torn; his dark hair and pale face and most of his being have been rendered the same strange gray color, created by a layer of dust. Through the dust, blood has congealed in several places—along his brow and down his cheek and through the ragged gaps all across his tunic. He walks but struggles, half supported by the ghostly white knight with the cruel mouth. Two other knights, the young, delicate one and the knowing one with light eyes, hold the unconscious body of the blond knight between them. He is shirtless and looks in worse shape than the Emperor, blood and dust staining all of his exposed skin and clumping in his formerly golden hair. His head hangs down. His feet drag, and blood trails in dark red streaks behind him.

And then there is Malaak. Brave Malaak. Proud and unyielding, the small figure of the Lady Rey cradled safely in his arms (there is no place safer, Elsa is sure); she is wrapped in a black cloak and seemingly unconscious too. There is dust on her face and flecks of blood as well. What has happened to them, Elsa wonders. Did they stand at the epicenter of the earthquake?

"My Lord!" A humanoid medic approaches, attempting to guide the Emperor to a room.

The Emperor grips his front and lifts him off the ground, despite the fact he can barely stand. "See to Rey first!"

"Alec is gravely wounded!" the delicate knight says, his voice louder and richer in emotion than Elsa has ever heard it. "He should be treated first!"

"SILENCE!"

A shockwave passes through the infirmary; the glass walls splinter and equipment topples down.

"If she dies, I will kill you all."

Elsa sees the delicate knight regard the Emperor with uncensored hate. Still, all wait as Malaak carries the Lady Rey to a private room and the Emperor follows, kicking a droid aside who attempts to assess his injuries.

It is quiet again, like an aftershock has just ended. The blond knight is placed into the cubicle next to Leia’s and droids whir softly as they tend to him. The delicate knight stays close by, while the ghostly and pale-eyed ones survey him from the hallway. Elsa watches the two exchange furtive glances; no words are said out loud, but much is being communicated.

"Pular," the pale-eyed one says. "Leave him be. There is nothing more you can do now."

"Leave me!" Pular sounds so young, like a boy who is trying not to cry. The other two knights give up and make their retreat. Elsa stays; she turns back towards Leia.

"I wish I could say he takes after his father," Leia says. She sinks back against her pillow and tilts her head away from Poe and Elsa.

"He takes after you, Salah," Maz says, her tiny figure emerging from under Leia’s bed. Elsa is unsure when or why she ended up down there. "Though not quite your temper."

"Hush. You’re only teasing me now because he survived."

"What about Rey?" Poe says. They can still hear a commotion down the hall, though it grows fainter.

What do you care? Elsa thinks, remembering the way Poe had spoken of Lady Rey during negotiations, the look of disgust in his eyes. It is no longer there.

It isn't until Poe looks at her that she realizes she has spoken out loud. His handsome brow furrows. "She wasn't always like this," he says. "With him, I mean. She has friends in the Resistance who care about her. Who want her to come back."

Elsa is jealous of somewhere to come back to, of people who care. And yet, she feels a great sympathy for the Jedi. "She did nothing more than what she felt she had to do." Elsa understands this idea above all others. In a way, she respects it the most.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you." The Captain rakes a hand through his hair; his usual heavy confidence is leaving him. "This world is so different. I'm used to enemies I can shoot. Knowing good and evil by the patch on one's arm. By the company you keep."

"It is a luxury when things can be that simple."

"Rey will be okay." They both turn at the sound of Leia's voice. "Her Force signature grows strong."

"It is blinding," Maz says, "as the brightest sun."

Elsa tries to imagine what it must feel like to sense such things, to see the universe in shades of Dark and Light that carry so much meaning. She looks around for Hux. He appears to have slunk away. Disgusting weasel, she thinks. I will kill you. I will gut you like a snake one day. She suppresses the murderous thoughts and goes to Leia.

"General, are you still unwell? Should I fetch another droid?"

"My dear," Leia says, "you have done more than enough. My only ailment is that which comes with being a mother and for that there is no cure."

"I understand."

Leia squeezes her hand. "Thank you, Elsa."

Elsa excuses herself, claiming to need a refresher. What she really needs is air and water and escape. She needs to be free of this place, this metal maze in a brick cage. What goes on here? Earthquakes in the night and unsettling magic, the feeling that things are about to change, to tip over an edge. Maybe the legends of her people are wrong. What if that pure darkness that comes is not the end of all things but the beginning of others, dangerous things, evil things. The dawn of all the bad in the galaxy Amilyn was fighting against.

It feels like a premonition and she has never had one before. She shakes her head and wanders deeper into the infirmary, finding a glass room larger than all the rest.

The Lady Rey lies on a bright white slab. Her clothing has been removed and only a sheet covers her. Her face looks cleaner now. Droids hover all around and the blue-green lights of hi-tech scanners move up and down her body. She will be okay, Elsa thinks, and then looks to the Emperor.

He stands in a corner, having stripped off his tunic and undershirt. His chest is bare and thick with muscle and littered with scars; in several places the skin is split, and exposed ridges of pink flesh await the delicate work of a droid, which sutures the edges back together. He stands unbothered by his injuries, flicking one droid away that dares block his view of the woman in the room’s center.

How could I have ever married him? Elsa thinks. Her eyes drift over his torso again and she bites her lip. He would have killed me in his misery; all he is belongs to her.

She sees a reflection pass over the glass and looks to her side.

"Princess," Malaak says, "what are you doing here?"

"I got lost."

"You were spying." He smiles, but his eyes are weary. She wants to take care of him, to lay him down and let him rest after all he has done.

"Will you carry me off again?" she jokes. She thinks that he blushes; it makes his tattoos seem almost purple. To quell his embarrassment, she grasps for a change of subject. "What happened?" she says.

She follows his gaze back through the glass to the Jedi and the Emperor. "There was a great disturbance in the Force," he says. "Some kind of violent rift; it woke all of the knights. And then the ground shook not long after."

"Is that why you…?" He appeared close to her rooms after the earthquake had stopped, but perhaps he was on his way to the Emperor’s. She does not press the matter as he continues his story.

"The Emperor reached out through the Force. Ersn got the message; he’s the best at reading minds. He shared it with the rest of us and we went down to the catacombs."

"Catacombs?"

"Yes. A whole web of them under the palace; I had never been there before. It is a Dark place. Full of tombs and a library. The Emperor likes to go down there."

Elsa shudders. "So what did you find?"

"Chaos. Lots of dust. A huge chunk had collapsed; that is what must have caused the earthquake I think. We wandered far and could hardly see anything, and then the Emperor emerged. Piles of rubble behind him but there he stood. He had somehow got Lady Rey and Magess out."

"What were they doing down there?"

"That is not for us to know."

"But the rift in the Force—?"

"That is also between them."

"Forgive me," Elsa says. "So what happened then?"

"We brought them here but it was difficult. The Emperor was in a weakened state," Malaak stands a little taller as he recalls this part, "and he insisted that I carry Lady Rey."

"He trusts you," Elsa says.

"Yes."

She reaches for his hand. "I understand why. You came for me, didn’t you? After the earthquake—"

"Princess—"

"Call me Elsa. We are friends."

He looks down at where her hand holds his.

"We are friends, Sir Malaak, aren’t we?" she says.

His brown eyes meet her own of pale blue. "If I am to call you Elsa, then I must be your Malaak."

"My Malaak," she agrees and smiles.

He takes her hand and runs his thumb across her knuckles. His thumb is big and calloused; his touch so soft, it triggers goosebumps up her arm.

"Allow me to escort you back to your rooms, dear Elsa."

She curtsies and lets him place her hand in the crook of his elbow. They walk back through the infirmary, past Leia and Maz who smile warmly and Poe who gawks and the delicate knight who sits and holds vigil over his golden-haired friend who only sleeps. They pass back into the main artery of the palace to find the sun slowly rising, a strip of light across the horizon that grows ever brighter while the darkness recedes.

Elsa’s fingers hold firm to the large swell of Malaak’s bicep. He steadies her, she thinks; let the earthquakes come. I am not ready for the end of all things. There is still so much to see.

* * *

Rey sees nothing.

She looks down at her hands. They are scratched but healing from the application of bacta. The scratches on her face too. Her head aches but it is not a concussion. It is something deeper, a split in her brain, a metaphysical laceration. She stretches her legs out and studies her bare toes. Her feet are bruised. Her soles hurt. The toenail of her right big toe is partly missing. There are cuts and bruises along the length of her legs, disappearing beneath the plain cotton gown she wears. A gash near her knee has been sutured.

She looks up; she looks at Alec. It could be a lot worse, she thinks.

He lies, chest exposed and discolored with bruises or the remnants of burns, she does not know which. She thought she had healed him better than this. His eyes are closed. A tube protrudes from his mouth and connects to mechanical bellows that force him to breathe. He cannot breathe alone. He cannot see. He cannot feel.

She touches his hand. Tubes enter at several points along his arm, pouring blood and other fluids in. His hand feels warm. It does not move. She closes her eyes and reaches out with the Force, tracing across the surface of his mind with a tender caress.

There is nothing. This is not a shield. There is nothing there. His mind is empty.

No.

Rey breathes but she breathes too quickly. She remembers the feeling of drowning in quicksand, looking up through a sky of dark grains and the hazy window of her eyes, her body controlled by another. Plagueis touching everything, all her darkest thoughts and most treasured memories, all the intimate moments that were hers and Ben’s alone; touching her body and exposing her, taunting the man she loves and the one she cares for, bringing them to their knees all because of her foolishness.

No.

Ben holding her but her being trapped still. Alec admitting his betrayal. Alec kissing her in penance and her clawing her way back as Plagueis left, was forcibly dragged out of her. Seeing Ben almost kill Alec in his rage. Trying to save him. Understanding the Force and her power. Ben pleading with her. Ben giving up himself.

Ben giving up their bond because she left him no choice.

No!

Her mind is deathly quiet now, the echoing winds of phantom voices a reminder. He is gone. They are gone. You are alone and it is your fault. You did this.

Rey leans forward and presses her face to Alec’s hand. "I am sorry. Please forgive me. I will find a way—"

"What are you doing here?"

Pular looms over her, his eyes dripping with venom. His lips snarl. "Stay away from him!"

She pulls back. "I’m sorry. I was worried—"

"You have no right," he says. "You did this!"

"I did not mean—"

"But you have! You ruined everything!" His gaze falls on Alec and shifts into something oddly warm. "Did you know that there was a pact between us? We followed Ren out of that hell of a Jedi school, out of the lies and the hypocrisy, because he promised something better. We were to remake the Sith. Rebuild the great empires of old. The First Order was just a stepping stone. But now he has you." There is ice in his eyes as they turn back to Rey. "You with your Light-side witchery—you have made him a neutered dog. You have taken the fire of our leader and you have taken the life of our Confessor and there will be justice; I swear it on my oath as a knight."

A wave of dark energy washes over her and she can feel her strength begin to drain. This is his power, she remembers, to take what belongs to others. She feels weak; it is already too much.

"You should leave now," Pular says, still sucking dry what is left of her powers. "You should leave before it's too late."

Rey does. She stumbles back to her own sick room, poisoned by so much hate. She never dreamed. She never thought—

That was always the problem, she tells herself. You never kriffing think.

She calls for a droid to provide her with clothes. She dresses in the plain green pants and tunic of the hospital staff but at least she is covered. She renders herself unnoticeable in the Force and traces the long steps back to their rooms. Her body is aching and her heart is aching too. She does not know how to fix this. She cannot feel Ben.

Two Imperial guards stand outside the Emperor's chambers. Is he in? She has to ask. They say nothing as they allow her entrance and she takes it as a no.

She surveys the colorful rooms she decorated; their cheerfulness feels like a lie. She sits upon the ugly yellow sofa and draws her knees up to her chin. Maz's bark is still there, sitting in its water glass. It has sprouted leaves and it looks as if a flower is not far behind. What a cruel joke, she thinks. She cannot heal the things that matter. She cannot make goodness grow.

She hears boots stomping outside. The doors fly wide and bounce off the walls.

"Rey? Rey?!"

"Ben?"

He stops when he sees her. He looks terrible, almost drained of color, his face distraught and angry. "For fucks' sake, where were you? I nearly destroyed the infirmary—"

"I wanted to come here. I needed to… I didn't think to explain." Based upon Ben's agitated state, this would have been a good idea. She reaches out in the Force to soothe him, but it's like touching a wall. She cannot get through to him, not anymore. There is only silence.

"I'm sorry," she says. She wills him to try and understand. She wants to tell him of the awfulness with Pular, of what he said, of what she now knows. It would be so easy to open up her mind to him but she cannot bring herself to say the words out loud.

"Where were you?" she asks instead.

"Dealing with the negotiations. I only asked for an update on your health and was told…" He sighs, too tired to stay angry. "I should not have stepped away."

"Is everything okay?"

He looks to the heavens for a moment. "It will be. With all the chaos this morning, there were concerns that negotiations would stall. My mother has been taken ill as well."

"Leia? Is she okay?"

"Fine according to Dameron. But everyone is nervous. They need reassurance."

All because she wandered down a hall listening to a voice in her head. Her susceptibility to Plagueis nearly threw the galaxy off balance. She never thought of it in these terms before. To wield so much influence; it is terrifying.

"Is it worth it?" she says quietly to herself. She looks at Ben. "It's not, is it? All this just to keep me here."

"What do you mean?"

"You could have married the princess and kept all your power. You never would have had to bring back the Senate, never would have had to give the Resistance any kind of concessions. You did it all for me. I'm not worth it," she says with a sorry shake of her head.

"Is that what you think?" He begins to move towards her.

"I'm not!" She rises from the sofa and backs away. Her guilt is threatening to swallow her whole. "None of this should ever have happened. It was all a mistake. You and Alec…"

He stops at the mention of his brother's name. "A mistake," he repeats.

Rey cannot bear his expression. She cannot bear what she feels. "I should go."

"You are leaving?"

She is too much of a coward. "I need to rest," she lies and turns towards their bedroom. Her weakened leg gives out with the movement and she stumbles but Ben is at her side in an instant. He sweeps her into his arms and carries her to the bed; he sets her down gently. Her face flushes with shame. "Thank you," she tells him. He should not feel like a stranger now, yet he does.

"Tell me what to do." His eyes are haunted.

"I…" She can think of nothing. She reaches out to take his hands. Carefully she pulls off the gloves he always wears and places her hands in his. She closes her eyes and wills their connection to return.

It doesn't.

She reaches out and touches his brow, his cheeks, even skims over his lips. He stays perfectly still as she does, as she touches the pulse at the base of his throat. All is silent. She moves lower. There is only the beating of his heart.

Do you still love me? she thinks. Or was it only the Force?

His face tells her nothing.

She takes her hands away. "I should sleep,” she says. He blinks and is lost, and she is too. What is real? What can be real when everything is silent?

He leaves her to return to his meetings, and eventually she sleeps. Nightmares chase her. She is locked in a cage and cannot cry for help; there is only Plagueis’ voice, in her mind and her body, and he is touching her. He controls everything—

She wakes with a start. She is gasping for air. A familiar face hovers above hers.

"Rey? Are you all right? It was a nightmare. I couldn’t—"

She knows the rest. He could not stop it. He has no entry into her dreams anymore.

"It’s okay,” she sits up. "I’m okay.”

"You are not."

She looks to the chronometer. It is dark now. She must have slept for hours. He is in bed with her. In their bed. Is it still? He is here, she thinks. That is something. He wears no shirt and she can see the barely healed lacerations from their ordeal, the damage to his skin. Damage that she has caused. There are still faint red lines where she scratched his face.

Rey looks away, but not before Ben catches her.

"What do you need?" he says. His voice is so quiet.

I need you, she thinks. I need to go back to the way things were.

"I just need sleep," is all she says. She lays back down. She tries closing her eyes. She feels the mattress dip beneath his weight, but he is not close enough to touch her. She wishes that he would. She does not know how to ask; it makes her want to cry.

"Please."

She opens her eyes at the word. She turns and Ben is staring. He looks just as sad as her. He needs something. He holds out a hand and lets it rest in the space between them.

"Please," he says again.

She understands.

She reaches out for him. She moves closer until he can wrap one arm around her and draw her near. He holds her. She can feel him exhale as she does too. There is silence in her mind. She cannot reach him; she does not know how. There is silence still, but just the simple human contact—the touch of his skin, the drum of his heart—

It is not the same, Rey thinks, closing her eyes, but maybe it is enough for tonight.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So the alternate titles for this chapter were _Couples' Therapy: Sith-Jedi Edition_ and _I Tried to Make Them Use Their Words (I Swear)_ followed closely by _What's Hux Got To Do with It?_ and _We Better Get This Plot A-Movin'_.
> 
> I'm sorry about the delay in posting. The further we go, the trickier it becomes to balance all these plotlines and characters, and I really want to do everyone justice and have all the moments and take this story where I want it to go. Thanks to everyone for being so awesome and patient (and keeping the comments section wonderfully entertaining in the meantime).
> 
> I love this bar. <3
> 
> Also, fair warning: There's a moment towards the end of this chapter that flirts with dubcon (and ends firmly in the con category), but if it's not your jam, feel free to skip. :)

"For only in destroying I find ease  
To my relentless thoughts."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

There is a building that is not attached to the palace, but it is on the palace grounds. Made of brick and oppressively designed, it is unremarkable in appearance, despite its former purpose to hold and torture prisoners in the days of Emperor Palpatine.

Now it forms the Imperial headquarters of the First Order Fleet.

Dopheld Mitaka enters before dawn. A colonel since the Endor campaign, he does not stop by his billet to shower and change. He still smells of the recycled air of his star destroyer, but that is the least of his concerns. He walks briskly through the lobby and into the elevator, inserting a keycard with special access available only to the High Command.

The elevator speeds quickly to the living quarters situated on the top floor. As the doors open, Mitaka inserts another keycard that grants him access to the sanctum within. Metal panels slide apart, and he walks past the outer receiving room to wait for the man he has come here to see.

There is no droid to greet him. Hux does not like them. Says he prefers the malleability of humans. Mitaka has begun to see that there is wisdom in this line of thought. He contemplates sitting on one of two gray sofas when he hears a noise.

It is a cry. Human in nature, high-pitched and made by a female. His senses alert for peril, he wonders if he should investigate when he hears another. It is not borne of pain. He listens carefully and hears something else; the unmistakable slap of skin against skin. Mitaka tries to place his thoughts elsewhere. He tries not to edge towards the open doorway leading to the General's bedroom, but the temptation proves too great. He stands in the shadows and he watches; he cannot help himself.

A woman is on her hands and knees on the bed. Her hair is blonde, and her body, at least from what Mitaka can see of it, is firm and tight. The General stands behind her, a thin white pillar of sinew. As his rhythm grows faster, the woman's head is pulled back forcefully by her hair and she cries out again; the General stiffens as he spends himself inside her. When he is done, he steps back and begins to methodically dress. The woman wobbles off towards the refresher and soon there is the sound of running water.

Hux keeps his back to the door as he dresses. He has on pants and is buttoning the cuffs of his black shirt when he says without turning, "Why don't you pour the coffee, Colonel? We have much to discuss."

It has long been rumored that Armitage Hux has eyes in the back of his head, but Mitaka knows better; he has far more eyes than that.

They sit at a table in a room next to the bedchamber. There is a white cloth upon it and a splendid breakfast has been laid out. There are two place settings but Mitaka is not invited to sit at one. He is, however, allowed a cup of coffee. Not the military-issue caf he is used to but the rare kind that is grown from a tree. He savors the aroma and the flavor, even as he reminds himself of why he is here. Through the highly tinted windows he can see the early sunrise over Coruscant. Filthy city, he thinks. He much prefers the order of his destroyer or the clean beauty of his home-world. But, as Hux has taught him, sacrifices must be made.

Hux digs into a large plate of food. "How are our friends?" he asks.

"They are well," Mitaka says. "Another battalion safely hidden in the unknown regions. The contacts from your father proved helpful."

"They always were," Hux says. "Two more destroyers are scheduled for decommission. I want you to take them and the bulk of the armored transports they carry and rendezvous at the same place."

"But sir," Mitaka begins; it was bad enough getting one battalion out undetected, and that was on his own ship. "How will we deal with two—?"

"I will make the necessary arrangements. We will say it is for a peacekeeping mission. The Resistance love that sort of thing. Utter the words 'peace' or 'being rights' and they'll bless an army of death drones." He laughs softly to himself. "We shall capitalize on their idiocy."

Mitaka nods, but everything inside him seems determined to revolt. He speaks; he cannot help himself. "Sir—why do you play along with these games? With the illusion of peace? We have enough firepower to destroy the Resistance. We should kill them while we still have them here. We should not submit ourselves to these… dogs, these—"

"Enough, Colonel," Hux says, though his voice is not upset. "We wait until we are ready to strike. We shall be servants only for a little while longer. Isn't that right, Captain Kirss?"

The woman from the bedroom emerges, hair damp, wearing nothing but a pair of First-Order officers' trousers and braces that hang at her hips. She seems unaware or (more likely) unbothered that she is topless, and Mitaka is hard-pressed not to stare at her breasts. Large and pert and round—he feels himself begin to harden and quickly looks away. Captain Kirss gives a soft laugh as she pours herself some coffee.

"Is he shy?" she asks Hux.

"Colonel Mitaka has been in deep space for a long time. He might need tending to."

At this Mitaka's head snaps up, but Kirss is unperturbed. "I have work," she says.

"This is your work. Any luck with the other knights?"

Kirss considers as she sips her coffee. "The pale one and the dark one are too busy fucking each other to be interested in me. The young one lives at the bedside of Magess. And the large one follows the princess around like a pit-puppy; I cannot even get him to glance in my direction."

Hux frowns at this. "We will deal with him soon enough. Tell me about Magess. Any chance?"

"His vitals say no. He's been stable for three weeks now and his wounds have all healed. To observe him he appears fully restored. But there is no indication of brain activity. No responsiveness."

Hux sighs. "Such a waste of your talents," he tells Kirss. "I feel confident we could have gotten him as an ally."

She nods in agreement. "We might still be able to use him to sway the others. The young one is by far the most zealous. He marks the loss of Magess as a wound to be avenged."

"Against the Emperor?" Kirss has Hux's full attention now.

"Possibly. But he knows he is too weak to strike alone. The other two are sympathetic but too smart to risk everything."

"And the ugly one?"

"Too busy sniffing after the princess."

Hux frowns again. "And the Jedi?"

It is here that Kirss smiles. "She is with Magess every day. From sunup to sundown."

"She mourns him?"

"She… is trying to heal him I think. She spends hours in meditation by his side."

"But still nothing?"

"Not yet. Though I can't imagine the Emperor is pleased about this development."

It is Hux's turn to smile now. "He is not."

"But how long?" Mitaka is ashamed of the plaintiveness in his voice. "How long must we wait before we can strike? How much longer shall we pretend?"

Hux stands and Mitaka follows. Kirss watches them from her seat.

"Until the time is right," Hux says, and places a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. "Cheer up, Mitaka. You shall have your war eventually. But for now we go quietly into our retirement," he pats Mitaka’s cheek, "and be as docile as lambs."

* * *

Kylo cannot remember ever feeling so tired.

For three weeks he has endured endless meetings, made ever more concessions, accepted founded and unfounded criticisms alike, been yelled at and yelled back and finally learned to bite his tongue, to chew deep into muscle, all in the name of this dreaded diplomacy.

He has foregone his usual regime of training and food and rare hours of sleep. He thinks he may have lost weight and he is aggrieved to demonstrate any sign of weakness to the outside world. He returns to his rooms each night in the depths of darkness to find no one waiting. No small figure curled up in a familiar black robe on that damned yellow couch. No bright smile. No warm eyes. No challenging voice in the air or in his mind to goad him, to want him, to leak out with unconditional love.

He returns every day and Rey is already sleeping. He knows her movements. He knows the futile vigil of her hours, the thoughtless humiliation she bestows with this worthless use of her powers. He lies down beside her and she does not seek him out. He wants to hold her close, to breathe her in, to touch her and kiss her and fuck her hard enough to imprint her body into the mattress forever. He wants to see her eyes and hear her words and know that she belongs to him.

He does not know this. He stops coming home. (Home, he thinks; what is a home without anyone to live in it?) He stays late in the reception room he uses for an office. He goes down to the library. The spirits come to him freely now. They sit beside him and tell him their stories and he takes their faded hands in his and lets them go. How he wants to let go too. But he knows he never can. They are not bonded anymore but they are tied together and she drags him behind her, through the mud of her betrayal, like a criminal tortured and put on display for the masses to jeer at. Does she know what it means each time she enters the infirmary? How it looks to those aware of their relationship, who see her as the reason for the Emperor’s insanity? Does she know what it is that she does to him?

But he endures it. He endures everything. He endures the weight of this blasted galaxy upon his broad shoulders but they are not broad enough. He must carry the dead in his arms and the living on his back and this girl in his heart who claims to love him. Does she? He wonders but he cannot stop loving her, the stranger who comes back each day too tired to wait for him and let him share his load. He carries everything but he does not carry her. She no longer lets him.

He has not slept in their bed for over a week. They have not shared a meal for even longer. They do not talk. They rarely pass each other, strangers in the night haunting unconnected halls. He is a ghost now but he cannot release his spirit. He must press it down. He must swallow his rage and his severed tongue, taste the iron of its stump in his mouth while he does not talk. He is severed. He is a stump. He is not a man anymore.

He opens the doors to their rooms. It is not late today for negotiations are winding down; a fragile peace has almost been made. Certain parties of the Resistance are getting ready to leave and others are getting ready to stay, to build a new senate, to rule by Kylo’s side (which means to snipe from the sidelines at the first sign that he fucks up). At least the military are behaving and this should give him pause, but he is too tired to stop and think about anything with his usual analytical brain. He walks like a droid. The lights are on in the room. Rey sits at a table laid out with a hot meal for two people. She smiles when she sees him.

"I was hoping you would make it."

He almost smiles when he sees her. His heart beats and nearly bursts; he wants to explode in a visceral cloud at how much he loves her. He cannot love gently. He cannot feel in simple words.

"Please," she says. "Join me."

He sits down across from her. He shrugs off his cloak and removes his gloves and feels her eyes follow every movement.

"And what is the occasion?" he says.

She pours him a glass of wine. He does not feel like drinking. She pours a glass for herself and he watches her down it quickly.

"Rey?"

She smiles proudly. "I made a breakthrough," she says. "There was something today. A flicker of something but I felt it. Alec lives. He is still in there—"

Kylo studies his glass and his surroundings reflected in it. Rey continues to talk.

"I was so excited, I wanted to share it with you. Can you believe it? I can do this; I can—"

Kylo stands. He turns and walks to the yellow sofa. He ignites his lightsaber and slashes at the offensive piece of furniture until it is a pile of singed upholstery and wood.

He clicks the saber off and replaces it on his belt. He returns to the table. Rey stares in muted horror as he sips his wine and regards her. "You were saying?"

She finds her words finally. "What was that?"

"Hm?"

"What. The kriff. Was that?"

"I have grown tired of that which I dislike."

"The sofa?"

"This farce of a life."

"Ben—"

"Do not call me that."

"Ben?"

His eyes level with hers and he speaks more calmly than he feels. "Do not use that name."

Rey’s mouth parts. A hand goes to her throat and fingers the gift of his necklace (how it seems to mock him now). She wears a silk dress of pale yellow, a washed-out shade of that fucking sofa. With its low neckline he can see the top of her breasts and how her chest rises and falls with increasing speed. His gaze returns to her face. There is hurt in her expression. There is the horrified impression that she does not know who he is.

"I don’t understand," she says.

"Do not play dumb." He places his glass down and surveys her coolly. "You may act like a child, but you are not a fool."

Her eyes well up with moisture. "Ben…"

"No," he says and still his voice does not lose its normal low register. "You do not get to cry like you are the wounded party. You have cut me too deeply, my love. You have sliced me down to my bones."

She is beautiful, he thinks. A doll in the candlelight. A toy he could break. He sees how she softly quivers, a growing fear in her eyes. She stares at him with the dawn of this fear and he is glad for it. He wants her afraid; he wants her to feel something for him.

"Do you know what you have done?" he says. "Every day when you go and give yourself to him and you give me nothing in return? I am not a patient man by nature. But you have changed me. You have brought me to my knees and I have given you all I have." He drinks more wine; he is not used to so much talking but there is more he has to say. "I have given you the galaxy, my dear lowly scavenger, but I do not think it is enough for you. Not when you spit in my face; when you laugh at my abasement. When you act with such spectacular carelessness in how easily you betray me."

She is crying now. His desert rat who carries an ocean inside her. It is time, he decides, to deliver what is the killing blow.

"I wish him dead," he says. "I wish he had died beneath the rubble. I wish I had taken the chance to end him much sooner. I could have killed him that night you slept beside him in his rooms and you’d have never known what I did. I could end him right now with just a thought."

"You mustn’t—!"

"Why do you still defend him?!" He brings a fist down; it rattles the whole table. "The man who gave you up to Plagueis and nearly killed us both, who caused the bond to be broken; do you love him? Answer me!"

Her voice is but a whisper. "I love only you."  
  
"Liar!" he shouts.

"I am not!" she shouts back. She wipes her tears with the back of her hand. "I am not but you would believe one! You would believe the word of that dead Sith over the woman you claim to love—"

"I believe my own eyes!"

Her tears still flow freely but her eyes are bright with anger. "Why don’t you understand? This is my fault. It is my fault he is there! I could have put an end to this long before but I was too blind and too cowardly and too weak to stop it. And now he is worse than dead. I have the power to restore him—should I not use it?"

"You should let him die."

"Well I am not you!" She pushes away from the table, sending her glass toppling. Kylo watches the wine bleed into the white cloth. "I cannot do this anymore; I am too tired." She starts to move past him. "I am going to bed."

"You will not leave," he says as if he wills it with the Force. If she does then she will be lost to him forever. He stands to face her, and she holds his stare.

"If you do not trust me then we are nothing."

"If you love another, then what is the point?"

Rey throws the table over in a move he would have been proud of. Her fingers twitch, and her saber is called into her hand. She ignites it and slices through chairs, a coffee table, the surviving blue sofa that stands in mourning for its yellow twin. Kylo ignites his own as Rey finally turns on him. The next few moments are a blur of red and green, both of them spinning wildly, destroying every bit of furniture between them, scorching walls, slashing drapes and pictures apart, bisecting the mantel over the fireplace into uneven halves.

"Did you think that if you called me out I would not answer?" she cries. "You do not always get to have the last word." She flies at him and he blocks her, but not before she singes the sleeve of his tunic. "It is you who left me! I am the one who sleeps in our bed alone. I am the one who endures your silence. You do not get to be the martyr. You have not earned the right!" She tries a feint but he reads it too quickly. Their sabers lock and it is so much like before, except now instead of snow there are splinters and feathers and fabric confetti that fall around them. He leans over her and tries to push into her mind. If she will not tell him her secrets, then he will pull them out. She feels him penetrate her walls and pushes back with the Force. They break and end a dozen feet apart but Kylo won't relent. He reaches out with his hand.

She tries to resist him as she did the very first time, but he is ready now. Her walls are not solid but a violent storm, swirling clouds of so much anger and fear and want and need; he must act with precision. He must dissect the weakest spot.

Her hand reaches out as if to stop him. He finds a chink and the barrier begins to crumble. He is so close now. If she would just let him in.

He slips inside her. She is reaching for him. She is pushing back just as hard. Something bright and hot and desperate in the Force. A battering ram against his senses, threatening to demolish his shields. Needy fingers grasping, trying to hold onto something.

_Come back come back come back—_

She is trying to repair the bond.

"No!"

He brings his shields down sharply like a guillotine, her pain palpable to him as those grasping fingers are suddenly sliced through. Sabers extinguished, they both struggle to catch their breath. A thin thread of blood trickles from Rey’s nose.

"You do not get the privilege," he snarls. His hands form fists and his shoulders hunch; he feels less man than beast.

"You bastard," she says. Ah, there it is; the look from the forest. She is just as wild as him."You arrogant, no good, piece of shit bastard—!"

She charges, using the back of an upturned sofa to take a running leap and launch herself at him. Her hands reach around his neck as their bodies collide. The momentum is enough to send him flying back, both of them landing hard against the floor.

"You bastard! You bastard!" She lands a punch to his face. He spits out blood and wrestles her wrists into his grip. She writhes against him, her thighs spread across his middle. She tries to kick. She tries to wrench herself free. Without the Force—for they are too angry to use it now—she is no match for him in strength or size. He rolls them over, forcing her onto her back. And all the while she fights, even as he pins her arms above her head and keeps her trapped by his full weight.

"You bastard! I will kill you!"

"Why?" He smiles. "Am I in the way of true love?"

She screams, a feral yell like he heard amid their fight with the Praetorian guard. He was in love with her then. He is in love with her always—

A knee raises up and connects with his groin.

Kylo groans. Rey wriggles free. He curls up on his side but reaches out for her ankle, ripping her dress before he can get a firm hold. He drags her back towards him and she calls with the Force on anything she can see. He deflects flying plates and lamps and all those kriffing vases of needle blossoms. He keeps dragging her closer as she kicks and tries to scratch and at one point rips out a chunk of his hair.

He pins her down once more. "What do you want?" he says.

"I want to kill you!"

"Why?" They stare at each other. Her dress is torn and her breathing ragged. He watches once more as her chest rises and falls, her breasts pushing up against the edge of the fabric. He takes hold of the bodice and rips it in half. "Why?" he says again and kisses the soft flesh. Rey writhes beneath him. "I should have disciplined you sooner—"

"Kriffing bastard monster—!"

He silences her with a kiss. Her hands are in his hair, but she is not pulling now. She is holding him close. Her pelvis rises up and tries to meet his hardness, to gain some friction, and he must hold her down.

"You have to earn it," he says.

"BASTARD!"

He kisses her on her filthy mouth. Their teeth clash. She bites his tongue and he growls. He has never been more aroused.

She is touching him all over, pulling on his clothes, trying to get access to his skin. He pulls away long enough that she rips the top buttons off his tunic. He rips the rest and shrugs out of it fully; he reduces her dress to shreds. His desert rat is left in only silk rags, her pupils blown, her mouth swollen, her breasts flawless, unbridled miracles of nature.

She reaches for his belt. "I need you now," she says. His hands work in tandem with her own and she strokes him once as his fingers find her hot and wet, ready and waiting for him. "Now; please, now." She guides him down by his hair, by his back, by her hands gripping his ass. Her thighs spread wide and he’s inside her; he is gone—

"Fuck!" He ruts like an animal, like it has been too long. What is he doing? What does she want from him?

"Don't stop don't stop don't stop—" she says. She holds on everywhere. He is never letting go. He is in bliss. He is drowning. He is fucking her again and again until they are buried in the floor; he will break her through to the next story.

"Fuck." My love. He only thinks the words. She does not hear but she must feel them in his touch, in his need, in how he cannot be gentle. "Rey—"

"I need I need—"

What do you need?

"Ben—"

She comes with a cry, with his name on her lips. He takes her hands and threads their fingers together, her arms arched above her head, her mouth a silent O. He is close, so close, and he is falling too. He is fallen. He is dead weight above her. Still, she holds him close with arms and legs and her whole body. He feels her lips at the shell of his ear.

"I love you," she says. "Only you. It will only ever be you and you cannot leave me; you must stay."

I cannot move, he thinks. I could not leave if I wanted.

"Trust me, Ben."

I trust you, he thinks.

"Love me."

I do.

"Marry me."

But he proposed—

She holds his face in her hands. "I used to be so good at waiting but you have changed me too. I cannot wait any longer. You must marry me right now."

He is dying.

"Ben? Say something." She laughs. "You were so talkative earlier."

He feels himself begin to harden inside her. He looks at her and kisses her laughing mouth. No bond and no thought. No words.

Rey understands as he starts to move. "I will take that as a yes."


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Um, so we have a wedding, y'all. Been a helluva long time coming. I hope I did it justice. Happy Friday. :)

"No no, I feel  
The Link of Nature draw me: Flesh of Flesh,  
Bone of my Bone thou art, and from thy State  
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Elsa is hiding in the closet.

Quasi-hiding, she tells herself, as she sits at a desk made from an old ironing board, in a little-used supply room in the west wing of the palace. She likes this place because it is quiet and she can work undisturbed (save for the cleaning droids that occasionally stop by to replenish their supplies.) It is also close to General Organa’s quarters, which is most convenient as Elsa spends a significant proportion of her time with Leia these days. It further recommends itself by being somewhere Captain Dameron has difficulty finding, making his attempts to monopolize her precious time less frequent.

But most of all she likes this closet because Basta Shan is allergic to the chemical used to clean the toilets and there are three shelves' worth of the stuff stored here. His lungs nearly seized up during his last visit, and Elsa delighted in watching him crawl away as he struggled to breathe. Her father has been on the warpath lately. A thwarted chance to have an Empress in the family didn’t sit well, so he has returned to his previous tactic of trying to foist her off on the richest and most odious man he can find. Hence Basta Shan’s no longer censored interest. (And hence why she’s become so adept at hiding.)

So, the closet is where Elsa stays—because it here that Elsa can work.

She likes feeling useful and integral to a greater whole. She likes that she can do something that has nothing to do with her appearance or her title or her family name. There is a galaxy that needs rebuilding. There is a government to establish. There were good ideas thirty years ago, with the old Senate, but they weren’t fully realized. The Senate by itself wasn’t strong enough to rule; it was too easily fractured and led astray. As much as her Resistance colleagues don’t want to admit it, the Emperor was right to insist that there be an actual head of state, that the power to enforce laws be concentrated within one branch of government—and not the same one that makes the galactic decrees. The two should be separate and curtail each other’s powers; this might be heresy to some, but in this she thinks her cousin is wise.

With at least a third of the initial senatorial delegates already chosen, there must be an infrastructure to receive the influx. There are logistics to establish. Committees that must be made. And they must all be organized and categorized. It is here that Elsa shines. She finds that, say, selecting a committee to establish judicial provinces is not so different to organizing a dinner party in that you need conversation starters, conversation carriers, and workers who will make the process run smoothly. And she knows enough of the names on these lists that she can set each place with the most suitable person.

At the moment though, she is distracted. She is waiting for the favorite part of her night.

It started innocently enough, a cup of tea brought after a late night of work; now it has turned into a ritual. He stops by every evening after he has finished his duties, bringing her needle-blossom tea (a recent favorite thanks to Maz) and a bottle of mead for himself. There are more shadows under his eyes these days, more lines upon his face. Elsa has never thought to ask his exact age but he is older than she, both in years and in worldliness. He doesn't seem to mind though. He listens to her as if she is his equal; they talk long into the night. She thinks that he is not a man prone to talking and yet he speaks so freely with her. Mostly, he speaks of work. Knight of Ren is nothing compared to the title he now carries: Commander of the Imperial Police. Something entirely new—something to bring to heel the long-held might of the First Order and render it obsolete. A collection of former stormtroopers and civilians, he is fashioning it into more than just a weapon; it is something that can protect. She thinks this trait is a lot like the man himself.

Except he isn't here tonight. Two hours past midnight and he hasn't yet come. Should she keep waiting? It is foolish, she thinks. He is not interested in her that way. She cannot help but moon over her knight but as for him—she can never tell what he is thinking. She takes small comfort in the fact he keeps coming back but maybe her luck has finally run out. Maybe she is destined to be alone forever.

Except now she hears footfalls in the hallway. A familiar gait. She sees him, but it is not like before. There is no tea tonight, no contraband mead. Just the look of a man who is troubled.

"Malaak?" she stands up. "What is wrong?" There is something unsettled in his features, in the way he draws breath; he studies her as if wondering if he should be here at all.

At last, he speaks. "Princess," he says. "I have urgent need of your help."

* * *

She waited for him. Hours later than they normally meet and still she stayed cramped inside her ridiculous closet of an office. She did not wait for _him_ , he reminds himself. She has been so busy; she works such long days. She has no need for his company when there is so much to do but still he wanted to see her.

And now he arrives with a matter of galactic importance.

He would have arrived earlier. Maz was brewing the tea and stealing his mead and he was pacing agitatedly, ready to go to her and see her sweet smile and hear her lilting voice. The closet is full of chemicals, but he can smell her perfume when he is near her or what she must put in her hair or maybe it is all her—he recalls it each night on his way through the palace gardens but he was diverted on this journey. The Emperor reached out to him. An insistent voice in his head. Malaak went straight to his quarters.

What Malaak found both confused and disturbed him. His saber-club instantly lit, he surveyed what appeared to be the aftermath of a hard-fought battle. But the Imperial guards stood unbothered by the doors. And the Emperor greeted him unbothered too, emerging from the bedroom dressed in his usual uniform, black and unblemished. The Emperor’s lip was freshly split; this Malaak did note, and his covetable dark hair was still damp from the refresher. His expression to Malaak though was characteristically grave.

And then the Lady Rey appeared. Dressed in her unapologetic Jedi robes. She smiled at Kylo as if Malaak did not exist, going to him and wrapping her arms about his middle. The Emperor smiled down gently at her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. It was as if he transformed before Malaak’s very eyes.

And then he made a request of Malaak. Something unexpected. A duty Malaak has never performed before, but something he intends to see fully through.

"What is it?" Elsa says.

He takes her arm (he finds many excuses to touch her) and leads her back into the closet, quietly closing the door.

"The Emperor has called upon me for an important mission. It occurs tonight. It occurs right now. And I have need of your company for it."

Elsa grips his forearm. Malaak wants to place his hand over hers. To gather her close and feel her slender form pressed against the length of him.

"What is it?" she says. "What sort of mission can it possibly be that you would need me for?"

He smiles. "Dear Elsa." She blushes at that. "I would think you capable of any daring feat but this one is special. It is personal."

"Tell me—"

"The Emperor…" Malaak glances behind him as if they might be heard. "He wishes to wed. He and the Lady Rey. They wish to wed tonight."

"They—!" Malaak covers her mouth and feels her lips brush his palm. She mumbles something, and he drops his hand away. "I am sorry," she whispers. "But they wish to elope?"

"They wish not to wait."

"How romantic," she says and there is sadness in her voice and he wonders if she regrets her own engagement so recently ending. He forgets sometimes that she came so close to being the mistress of his master (mostly because he tries very hard to forget).

"They need two witnesses. I knew you would still be working. I thought—"

"Of course," she says. "I would be honored."

"Then we must leave right now." He waits for Elsa to put on her cloak then offers her his arm. "But be ready, Princess, for we must leave via the catacombs."

* * *

Elsa makes Malaak stop by the barracks' garden first. "A bride must have flowers," she tells him, gathering a large armful of purple needle blossoms and blood-red roses. She ties them together with a ribbon she unlaces from the neckline of her gown. She gets a secret thrill in how Malaak watches her remove it, but soon he is hurrying her back inside, down winding corridors and through a hidden entrance that he opens with the Force and into such coldness and darkness as they descend endless sets of stairs.

"Didn't this place collapse?" she says, holding tight to his arm as she holds her cloak even tighter.

"Only part of it. And not the part we are using. There are tunnels here," he says as they walk further down, through darkness thick and black as tar, guided only by the red glow of his saber. The cold is penetrating to her skin now and she leans close to his solid form, the only real thing she can feel. Malaak seems to know his way, and Elsa wonders if he is leading them with the Force in the same way he knew where to find the secret door. Whatever magic this is, she trusts him, and soon there is moonlight beckoning them towards the end of a long, damp passage.

Two figures wait to greet them. There is the Emperor standing tall like an image of Death beneath his coarse black cape, and the Lady Rey, looking no less remarkable in her simple wrap of gray.

"Cousin," the Emperor says with the slightest of nods. He does not seem surprised that she has come.

She extends the flowers to Rey. "Congratulations," she tells her, and Rey answers with a hug. She cannot stop smiling and kisses Elsa on the cheek (which makes Elsa’s heart flutter). "Thank you," Rey says. She holds the flowers to her chest and breathes in their scent. "You are so thoughtful, Isolde. Thank you so much for helping us."

The Emperor looks to Malaak. "Can you cloak her?" he says.

Her brave knight shrugs. "It is not one of my better powers."

"I will conceal her," says Rey and slips an arm through Elsa's.

Elsa isn't quite sure what this means, but as soon as Rey touches her, she feels a warmth that envelopes her and evaporates the catacombs’ lingering cold. (She must resist the urge to lean close as she did to Malaak.) Elsa does not know if this renders her invisible to outside eyes, but she is sure it makes her less conspicuous. Being the only non-Force user, she assumes that Malaak and the Emperor have no trouble concealing themselves.

"Come," the Emperor says. "There is not much time."

He leads them through the forested grounds that surround the rear palace wall, through impenetrable foliage, moving in what feels like a circle until they reach the mouth of a great cave. There is more dark and Elsa shudders.

"Do not be afraid," Rey says. "Ben knows where he is going."

Elsa nods, even though her companion cannot see her. She wants to tell her how dreamlike this feels, how strange it is that she was meant to marry the groom only a few weeks before. Elsa has never been so pleased to be wrong. She clings gladly to Rey as the passageway tightens and moisture lands on her face. There is an incline; they walk downhill upon wet and uneven stone. Soon they stop, and Elsa hears a match strike and light a small hanging lamp to reveal a dripping brick archway that surrounds them.

It is a tunnel, man-made but seemingly ancient. The cobbled floor is partly submerged in murky water that laps at their feet and dirties the hem of Elsa’s dress. Her eyes follow its path down to where all is dark and still and the tunnel grows larger. They stand at the shore of an underground lake.

"What is this place?" she says.

"A subterranean cistern," the Emperor answers. "Originally built to store water but they were often used to navigate the city during times of unrest." A small boat is docked at the water’s edge and he guides Rey and Elsa on board. He sits opposite them and Malaak steers using a tall pole that pushes off the lake bed, relying on the Emperor’s directions.

"Where are we going?" Elsa whispers to Rey.

"I've no idea!" she says. Her giddy smile is bright in the dark as it peeks above the bouquet of flowers. "I asked, but he won't tell me."

Elsa thinks she can see the Emperor smile too, a subtle curve to his lips caught in the faint lamplight as he continues to give instructions to Malaak.

They glide smoothly under the surface of the city. It is quiet and still. Even the creatures who must live down here are silent. All are in reverence, she thinks, or maybe just in awe of the Force. She can make out occasional docks and stairs carved into the walls. Most are in states of disrepair but some look downright forbidding.

After what might be half an hour (time has become as unfathomable as all else), they stop at one of the less decrepit landing spots. The Emperor alights first and offers his hand to Rey then Elsa. Malaak steps off and almost upturns the boat. Elsa grabs onto Rey’s arm as he manages to steady it and moor it to a post. Rey doesn’t seem to mind that Elsa hasn’t let go as they begin the tortuous ascent back to the surface.

They emerge not into the outside world but inside a stone chamber. It appears rather unremarkable to Elsa, but it gives Rey pause. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, as if seeking something. The Emperor watches her, wordlessly waiting.

"I can feel…" Rey’s voice trails off. "What is this place?" she asks him.

He offers her his hand. "Let me show you." Rey takes it.

Elsa releases her and watches the two walk ahead. A conversation occurs that she cannot make out, not entirely with words, more as if they are exchanging feelings. Elsa starts as she feels another presence beside her; it is her Malaak. His large hand rests at the small of her back and she immediately relaxes against him.

"What is going on?" she whispers. "Where are we?"

"The old Jedi temple," he says. "Deep in the heart of the city. It was built upon a sacred mountain, or that's what the Emperor once told me." He bids them follow the royal couple. "It's full of Light-side magic."

They walk through several more passages until they reach a large and empty hall. "Is it no longer used?" Elsa says.

Malaak shrugs. "I think it's a museum now. There haven’t been any Jedi here for over forty cycles."

Elsa wants to giggle. So this is how the Emperor weds his bride, sneaking around a museum like thieves in the middle of the night. And yet, it is somehow perfect.

"He is doing this for her, isn't he?" Elsa says. "He does not love the Light side, but she does."

Malaak nods. It seems his voice is temporarily lost. Elsa remembers his words from long ago: The one whom the Emperor holds most dear. There is a hunger inside her, a longing to find someone who would love her that much. She curls her fingers around Malaak’s great bicep and moves a little closer.

At the entrance to a smaller chamber, the Emperor stops and turns to Malaak. "Did you get the priest?" he says.

Malaak smiles. "I think that’s her now."

A hunched old woman limps through the low doorway. Her hair is white and her eyes are glazed white too. Elsa understands that she is blind and yet the woman takes Rey’s hands with a minimum of searching.

"Dear child," she says. "I am glad to see that your sadness has gone."

Rey holds her hands tightly in return. "Will you help us? Selena said that you could."

The woman’s face grows stern. "If it is an ordinary wedding you seek, you should get a hatha-priest. My joinings are made only through the Force."

"That is what we want," Rey says.

"I feel your certainty, my child. But what of your betrothed?"

The Emperor stands with rigid politeness. "I submit to whatever she desires."

The old woman scrunches her face, adding another layer of wrinkles to the already impressive array. "Not good enough," she snaps. "If you decide this, it must be for yourself." She takes one of the Emperor's hands and removes his glove. Her small, wizened hands hold his palm between them and trigger in the woman a physical jolt.

"Such strength. Such Darkness." Her voice carries but is a whisper; she speaks to all and no one and maybe those they cannot see. "An ancient power," she says. "I have not sensed its equal in a very long time." She beckons with one hand for the Emperor to kneel. He lowers himself to one knee, still taller that the old woman, and she reaches up to touch his face, her small hands against his cheeks as she studies him with unseeing eyes. "Are you sure?" she says. "It will be harder for you. The darker the energy, the more permanent the scar."

"All scars are permanent," he tells her. "This is one I choose freely."

She lets go of him, satisfied. "Good. Then follow me."

They pass through the low doorway, the old woman being the only one in their party not required to bend double as she leads them. Straightening up, Elsa looks about the room. The ceiling is low too and carved with many symbols. She does not know what they mean but some look familiar; she glances to Malaak. One she recognizes in the tattoos on his face.

Oil lamps have been set out at the corners of the paved floor. The old woman retrieves one and places it in the center. "Kneel," she says to the Emperor and the Lady Rey; they do. Elsa studies them as they face each other. Rey smiles and the Emperor sneaks an opportunity to take her hand and press a kiss to her palm. Elsa turns away as if intruding on a private moment. This whole thing is one huge private moment and she cannot believe she is here.

The old woman is busy rummaging through her vagabond sack of a bag but she at least gives Elsa something to do, handing her and Malaak long tapers to light the remaining oil lamps that hang on the walls. Soon the room burns bright with flame, a warm yellow glow that paints every surface with light and the elongated shadows of five figures.

The old woman is ready now. She kneels down between the Jedi and the Emperor. She holds a long knife in her hands and the sight of it causes Malaak to reach for his saber, but Elsa stills him. There is no danger, she thinks. This must be part of the ritual, though she has never seen a ceremony quite like this. There is a sacredness cast over everything like the light from the lamps; she is afraid to make a noise for fear of chasing it away. She keeps hold of Malaak’s arm as they stand behind the old woman and watch as she takes the Emperor's sleeve and slices it open from wrist to elbow. The Lady Rey wears no arm guards, so there is nothing to remove.

The old woman tugs gently until both of their forearms are side by side, palm up. Her knife's blade hovers above them.

"Do not take this lightly," she tells them. "Once the joining is made, it cannot be broken. Should you seek to let go, it will not be kind."

The Emperor looks at the last Jedi and something passes between them. "This is what we want," he says.

"Let it be known." The old woman raises the knife above her head. "Let no spirit tear this joining asunder!" And she brings the blade down against the Emperor’s waiting arm.

* * *

Malaak thinks that the mad shaman means to sever the Emperor’s limb. Instead she draws the knife in a careful red line all the way from elbow to wrist. Still, Malaak shifts restlessly; he has seen enough wounds to know that if the cut runs too deep then the injured party is at risk of bleeding out. The Emperor does not flinch; he does not move. He has a terrifying tolerance to pain that Malaak has not witnessed in another. Luckily, the blind woman does not go too deep. Blood streams from the cut, but not enough to harm. She wipes the knife and then does the same to the Lady Rey. Rey gasps at the incision, but otherwise keeps still. Soon her arm is bleeding just as much as the Emperor's. The old woman guides their forearms together, elbow to wrist, so the matching cuts kiss and their blood can mingle.

Malaak feels Elsa’s slight weight sink against him; he worries she is faint but her grip is strong as iron on his hand. She is as rapt as him, he thinks (more so, for he is well aware of how her body feels at all the points it touches his). They both watch in the comfort of each other as the old woman unfurls a strip of white cloth. The Emperor and the Lady Rey watch only each other. They seem unaware of everything else as the old woman wraps the cloth about their joined arms, starting at the wrist of the Lady Rey and working her way down until they are bound as far as the Emperor’s, the final knot tied tight around his thumb.

"Now," she says, "say the words I say: Our blood is one."

"Our blood is one."

"Again!"

"Our blood is one. Our blood is one."

It is here Malaak thinks that he remembers things wrong. The words are spoken and they are heard and they are said by the Emperor and the Lady Rey. But at parts it seems as if the light is changed and the room is loud with spirits and voices are speaking in alien tongues, ancient languages not heard in millennia. The Emperor and the Lady Rey speak as one and as many and Malaak feels the Force more strongly that he ever has before, Light and Dark swirling around him, not in conflict but in flux, in transition. Something is happening that he does not understand. The words are a chant, repeated over and over again. It is a mantra in his head and he must close his eyes; he is brought to his knees—

"Witnesses!"

Malaak startles. Elsa is on all fours beside him. Their hands are still linked, a single tight fist pressed hard against the stone floor. He glares at the back of the old woman.

"We are here," he snaps.

The Emperor and the Lady Rey continue to stare at each other. Tears stain both their faces now. There is awe in their expressions but serenity too.

"Step forward," the old woman says.

Malaak and Elsa stand. They must help each other to their feet. Their hands remain locked as if they are also bound.

"The blood is one. Say after me—"

"The blood is one," they say.

"Do you honor this truth? Say after me—"

"Yes, we honor this truth," they say.

The old woman places both her hands on the joined arms of the wedded couple and leans over, muttering incoherent words to herself. Done with her prayer, she rises and stands to her diminutive full height.

"Let no being break this union. Let it be forever. Stand now, my children." Arms still joined, the Emperor helps the Lady Rey to her feet.

"You are wed now," she tells them. "Young Rey, look upon your husband. Ben Solo, look upon your wife." She turns to Malaak and Elsa then whispers, "We must leave them now."

Malaak sees the Emperor touch the face of his new wife as he bends to exit the room.

* * *

Malaak still holds her hand. Elsa is aware of this and not much else. She knows the Force but she has never felt it in this way before. She is exhilarated. She is overcome. Amilyn always talked of Light and goodness but there is so much else, the existence of all things. Love and power and pain and devotion. Life and Death. The blood is one. She wants to cry it out. The blood is one!

They stand inside the chamber they had first entered through. The old woman has collected her things and means to leave them now via a different route.

"We should wait—" Malaak says.

"You do not listen for one so loud. Do not wait for them. Do not stay. They have no need for any other."

Malaak growls but accepts the old woman’s rebuking. She disappears without another word. Malaak steps in the direction she went but Elsa tugs on his arm.

"What?" He turns on her and remembers himself. "I am sorry, dear Elsa."

"Do not be." She touches his cheek, her fingers tracing the design on his face that matches the carvings she saw. "You have given me so much," she says.

"It is not enough."

If she could sense the Force like these supernatural beings that surround her, it would sing, she thinks. It would sing inside her.

"Thank you," she tells him.

It would sound like she is free.

* * *

Rey stares at her husband. _My husband_ , she thinks. She wants to test out the word, to tell him she is his and he is hers; they are of one blood. Still her mouth won’t work. Only her eyes can see how his face beholds her, a heady kind of wonderment. Only her ears can hear how he breathes in time with her. Only her skin can feel the careful touch of his fingers, tracing the tracks of her undried tears. Only her heart can feel what this means to her.

They stand with forearms still bound. She feels the part where their blood is linked, congealed and sticky, a stinging sore that is a pain she never wants to leave. She is bound to him not by the Force but by love, by want, by the gift of this choice. She chose him. She would choose in all the ways and in all the times, without their connection or their powers or the cruel twists of fate that brought them to each other. She would always choose him. Short and ugly; old and dumb. (How it helps that he is not any of those things; the thought makes her smile.)

"Rey…"

There are tears on his face; she wipes them away. How she wants scream but not in anger now. Was their argument the same lifetime? It cannot be the same night. But he has left marks upon her, a sweet bruise on her chest brought to the surface by his mouth, a pulsing ache between her legs that begs to ache more. Tell me, she thinks. Tell me what I cannot say.

His head turns and kisses her palm. His eyes close. He breathes her in.

"I did not believe such a day would come."

Tell me. Don’t stop now.

"All of my life until this point, I thought I was alone. I was alone with this gift and this curse. And the Force said nothing to me. I searched. I thought that there had to be something more. And there was. In the last place anybody would look." He opens his eyes and smiles at her. "Jakku," he says.

Rey does not understand.

"I felt the awakening. I knew who you were. But how we met…" He sighs but he is not angry. "You can never make things easy and I can only make them worse."

"Do not—"

"No." It is not her turn to talk yet. "Let me explain. Do you remember," and he tugs her close, "what Plagueis said?"

She does not wish to remember.

"About your creation. Look at me, Rey." She cannot deny him. "Not your birth, but your conception, he said. I knew the date. I know it so well. I was ten years old. I was in the room that belonged to my Hosna…"

His tears still come. Rey catches them all. She does not understand but she does.

"Rey," he says. "My Rey. You are mine. I am so selfish. All my Darkness and my need and the Force gave you to me. You were created for me. Not because I deserve such a miracle but because the universe does. You balance me. That is all the Force wants. Not dominance. Not a constant battle. Just this."

"Just me?"

"You, my darling." He leans down. His lips find hers. "My wife."

She still cannot find the words but she moans them into the kiss. My husband, she thinks. I am made for you and you are made for me. She cannot get close enough. Their bound arms now impede them.

"Stop." She laughs. She looks down. "I don’t want to be tied together now."

Ben laughs too. He only laughs for her. He only exists for her. He ignites his saber and holds the cross guard above the wrappings.

"Do you trust me?" he says, his eyes teasing.

"Just get on with it!"

He burns the bindings apart with a smile. Their arms are free. They reach for each other. They share their first true kiss.

"I always wanted to belong to someone," she says. "Not as a possession—but to be loved. To mean something. I was not waiting for my parents. I know that now." She touches his mouth, kisses it as he watches her with eyes that tell her everything. "I was waiting for you."

They kiss again. They kiss for what might be hours. When they pull apart, breathless, Rey takes her husband’s bare forearm and examines his wound.

"What are you doing?" he says.

She concentrates. She holds her hand above the cut. She feels the Force do her bidding, guiding it over his skin, finding the severed threads of broken cells and bringing them back together, making new tissue, drawing fresh blood. His arm is warm beneath her hand, thick with muscle and strength and when she is done, unmarked. The wound has fully gone.

"You are a miracle," he says, flexing his hand. "But what about you?"

"I have never tried it before."

"Then do." He holds her injured arm out for her and with her other hand she tries the same thing. The Force does not answer. Her cells do not respond.

"It does not work for me."

"I wish I could have your gift if only to remove your pain." He lifts her arm and kisses the wound. He takes his saber and burns off a strip of his cloak. "I will try and take care of you for all my life," he says as he wraps the cloth about her arm.

"And I will do the same for you, my love. My husband," she says at last.

Her husband smiles. He holds out his arm and she takes it. "Wait!" Rey goes to retrieve the bouquet of flowers from Isolde. "Now I am ready. And where are you taking me?"

"To a place I have not shared with another. Would my wife like to see?"

She nods, again unable to speak.

Oh yes, she thinks, oh yes, she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just want to give a shout out to [this song](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2nm4xv3firw), which I had on repeat as I wrote that last scene with Rey and Ben. Smashing Pumpkins have become my go-to peeps when it comes to Reylo feels!


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Um, so this went quite a bit different than expected. But the good news is that this means we will get at least one if not two more honeymoon chapters, so… yay?
> 
> Also, major MAJOR shoutout to NatiaRebmik because she made a playlist and it is AMAZING. Dark and gorgeous and I HAVE SO MANY FEELS ABOUT THIS I CAN'T EVEN FIND THE WORDS TO DESCRIBE THEM ALL. Check it out [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/anitanervosa/playlist/3DEPWcosKFqRYaeJjw6ufa?si=_upvkwmcQC-cOFVBjC6nFQ).
> 
> All right, here we go. Honeymoon time. Clutch dem pearls, y'all. Grab dem salts.

"Yet from those flames  
No light, but rather darkness visible"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

They leave the Jedi temple via a different route, exiting on the surface. Ben takes her hand and leads her through the labyrinth of Coruscant, down narrow alleys and along darkened streets. Their steps are giddy, almost drunken in their joy. Rey’s Force cloak fluctuates; she cannot concentrate long enough to control it. Ben must cloak her too. He grins and she is smiling like an idiot. They reach the tall walls of the palace, draped in thick and heavy vines. There is no hidden doorway. Rey starts to climb but he stops her.

"Follow my lead."

He runs for a few short steps and then, guided by the Force, he is leaping up to land on the edge of the parapet. Rey stares at him then closes her eyes. She is determined. The Force is around her. She runs and she can do this. She is powerful.

Maybe too powerful, she thinks. She stumbles, almost overshooting the wall. Ben pulls her back from the ledge, as he has done once before. He retakes her hand. They look at each other then down into the darkness of the palace grounds. Another jump, joined together this time, and they land like stealthy cats, never making a sound.

Through dense foliage they emerge onto a small landing pad. The _Falcon_ waits for them. Rey thinks her face may split in half at the sight; it is like something out of a dream—her old and new lives merging together in this strange and unexpected but no less perfect harmony.

Seeing Ben in the pilot's chair is a revelation. His control, his utter mastery of this craft. She has flown the ship enough to feel like she knows all its secrets, but he knows more. She feels flustered watching his hands flip switches and dials with practiced ease, in the whisper-soft way he takes off and they break orbit without disturbing so much as even a petal of her wedding bouquet.

She asks him where they are going but he refuses to tell her. They fight playfully for access to the nav screen when her husband glowers and asks in a deep and exasperated voice (that makes her feel every moment of the decade spanning between them) if he will have to use a Force sleep to convey her to their honeymoon destination. Rey gasps in shock but even as she does, arousal spikes within her. All of a sudden it feels like they are in the woods in Takodana again: her immobile and waiting to be carried away, him the masked creature who will make it so. She can tell that his interest is also piqued, not through any magic of the Force, but in how his breathing quickens and his pupils dilate, turning his eyes almost to black.

Yes, she tells him. He may have to do exactly that.

His lips hover above hers in the ghost of a kiss. Then the last thing she sees is the movement of his hand and she is lost to his Darkness.

* * *

She awakes cocooned in the familiar vinyl padding of the bunk, wrapped in her husband's thick cape. Her husband. It is a strange and wonderous thought and it does not yet seem real. But it is. She can tell just by looking at her arm—the black strip of fabric he used as a bandage has been replaced by a bacta pad dressing and the pain is almost gone. Rey scrambles to her feet, anxious to find him.

Moving through the ship, she can feel he is no longer on board (even without the bond she knows his Force signature enough to sense this). They have landed. Where are they, she wonders. What is the surprise? Is it the rainforest planet again or somewhere new, richer and greener than before? Somewhere secret to him. Somewhere that means a great deal.

She reaches the open gangplank. Smoke rises through the air, hot and thick with a sulfurous stench. Rey drops his cloak. She does not need it. There is so much heat. Somewhere warm, she thinks. Somewhere warm but not the desert. She descends the metal ramp.

She steps out onto a black landing platform. Everything is black, dark like night but she has no sense of the time of day. Smoke rises either side because the platform is a bridge. Red glows at its edges. There is lava. A river of molten liquid. They stand on a raging stream of it. They stand at the base of a tower. Black too and so vanishingly tall, it disappears to a point she cannot see, swallowed by clouds of darkness. A terrifying tower built on the edge of a volcano. What is this place, she thinks. It feels so Dark. It overwhelms with a menacing silence more potent than all the screaming voices she heard down in Plagueis’ tomb.

Ben stands a few yards ahead with his back to her. Another tall, black tower and just as powerful. He smiles as he turns towards her.

"Welcome," he says.

Rey feels shy under his gaze, nervous in these new surroundings. "Where are we?" she asks.

"The planet is Mustafar. An ancient Sith stronghold. It is heavy in the Dark side."

"I can tell," Rey says, pressing a palm to her forehead. She blinks. The stench and smoke make everything foggy. She feels dizzy from it. "What about the—?"

"Rey?" Ben is at her side in an instant. One arm holds her close by the waist, his other hand tilting her face up towards him. "Are you okay?" He sighs, and she sees his expression turn angry, not with her but with himself. "I didn't think. I am sorry—"

"It's fine. I am fine," she says.

"The Darkness hurts you. We can go."

"No." She rests her hands on his chest, feels the strong and desperate throb of his heart. "This is important to you. Tell me why," she says.

"You are not in pain?"

"No," she says. "Just a little lightheaded." Apparently a little is still a little too much for her husband; he sweeps her into his arms.

"What are you doing? I can walk."

"Not that I believe you, but even if I did, it is custom in many systems for a man to carry his bride over the threshold of their home."

Her arms wrap around his shoulders as she watches the _Falcon_ grow smaller. "This is our home?" she whispers.

"It is my grandfather’s castle."

Darth Vader, she thinks and looks up, the metallic teeth of a huge sliding door hanging overhead.

The view shifts and they are inside now. They stand (or Ben does as he carries her) in the center of a black circle, a towering space surrounded by black all above and the red of lava below. One path leads back to the where the _Falcon_ is and the other leads into the castle, as if they cross some kind of moat. Rey rests her head against Ben’s. She breathes him in, his scent replacing that of the cloying sulfur. The Dark side surrounds him but it surrounds them both; he coats them in his unique armour. She is protected here with him, she knows. She is safe in his Darkness.

They climb a low ramp and pass through another gaping doorway, entering a sparse hall, more bare and impersonal than his rooms in the palace ever were. Rey thinks she sees droids, but Ben ignores them and they ignore him. There is an elevator and he boards it; they travel up. Doors closed, it is silent, save for their breathing. The Force feels far away from her now.

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open.

"Here we are," he says.

He walks inside and sets her on her feet. Rey looks around. They are in a large room with a polished black floor and dull black wall panels. A proportionally large bed stands in the center and behind it the far wall bears vertical slits that form windows. At the right angle they merge into a complete view of outside. She can see a landscape of barren mountains covered in swirling gray clouds and lit by veins of bright lava that spill down into vast orange lakes below. It is like living in the mouth of a furnace, she thinks, in the heart of a star. She is shaken by the strangeness of this place. But one look at her husband, at the uncertainty on his face mixed with the smallest hint of hopefulness, and she forces herself to be strong.

"Come here," she says, and he does.

"How are you feeling?"

She leans into him and breathes him in again. "Better." She is weak and tired but there is a hunger inside her; the bed is so near. It does not matter where they are when he is with her and this is what they are here for. She presses a kiss to his jawline and reaches for the fastenings of his tunic. Ben takes her hands in his.

"There will be plenty of time for that," he says. "Rest first."

"I am fine!"

"You are a terrible liar." He guides her to the edge of the bed and lays her down. "Do you trust me, Rey?"

She nods.

"The Dark weakens you; you need time to acclimatize. I must let you sleep." He kisses her—long and sure and deep. She is lost to the feel of his mouth, to his taste, so when he pulls back she does not see his hand move like before. "Rest now, my love," he says, and she falls into blackness once more.

* * *

When Rey awakens, he is gone.

She sits up. She has been tucked in beneath a soft black sheet and her outer layers of clothing have been removed, along with her boots. Her pants and chest wrappings are still in place, and she feels irritated by this, though she cannot say why. She is also irritated by Ben's absence, mostly because the hunger has returned. She is refreshed, like he promised, but now she is ravenous for him. It is as if she is starving and he is the only sustenance in existence. A noise from the hallway disturbs her; it is the elevator opening. Rey jumps out of bed to greet him.

It is not her husband but a droid that emerges. A dull gray machine with a humanoid head and torso and thin metallic limbs, she had seen it earlier running away from them. It approaches her now.

"Oh, hello," Rey says. "Have you seen Ben—I mean, the Emperor?"

The droid nods politely. "He bids that you join him for dinner when you are ready," it says in a pleasant feminine voice. "He asked me to show you the facilities." It leads Rey to a nearby doorway. "The refresher is in here."

Rey runs a hand through her mussed hair and looks down at her rumpled clothes. "Yeah," she says, "a shower is probably a good idea. And what is your name?"

"I am C4328, my lady. Please call on me if you need any assistance."

"Thank you, C4328. I'm sure I will."

The droid backs away and Rey enters the refresher. It consists of two rooms. The first is an odd outer chamber containing what looks to be a large bacta tank, though it has been long-drained. Rey is drawn to it. She touches the crystalline surface and feels a loud echo through the Force. Pain and despair and so much longing; it nearly knocks her over. The Force signature is strangely familiar, she thinks. Like Ben's but not quite. Is this Vader? She knows only the legend of the bogeyman who terrorized the galaxy for decades until his son returned him to the Light. It all seems too simple, she thinks. His blood flows through Ben, and she would not turn him. They are the same but they are different and she senses it; it is a most curious feeling.

Recovering, she ventures further until she finds the more standard amenities and takes a long shower. Upon getting out, she rifles through the bags brought up while she slept (even her wedding bouquet from Princess Isolde has been retrieved and placed in a vase on one of the room’s rare side tables). The palace droids had packed under Ben’s instructions, which had not been heavy on detail. The contents of Rey’s bags are not so heavy either, containing only lingerie and a few other suggestive pieces. So this is what packing for a honeymoon looks like, she thinks and eventually decides on something. Then an idea occurs.

"C-4?"

The droid soon rounds a corner and Rey smiles as she sees it. "My Lady?" it says.

"How much do you know about cosmetics?"

* * *

An hour later, Rey follows C-4 down the elevator and through a long series of hallways, feeling almost unbearably self-conscious. Thanks to the droid’s help, for the first time in her life, her body is completely hairless. Her skin has been scrubbed and smoothed to unusual softness, and the only significant portion of hair that remains on her head has been teased and curled and piled into something beautiful and elaborate. There are cosmetics on her eyes to make her lashes and lids look darker, on her cheeks to give a hint of rose, on her lips to make them dewy and red.

But that is nothing compared to the dress.

Or nightgown, she thinks; she cannot imagine anyone wearing something like this outside. It is black and long and not unlike what she wore so misguidedly to do Plagueis' bidding. It has a deep, sweeping neckline that ends just above her navel (nowhere near her neck, she muses) and is held together by thin gold chains that link and form a trail down her sternum. Her breasts are almost bared; just the slightest nudge would reveal them. She does not know why this is the dress she chose, but the hunger inside her told her to do so.

"In here, my Lady."

C-4 hands her over to another droid, this one squat and black. It leads her into a medium-sized chamber with glowing red walls from the vents along the floor that lie over the lava seas. Despite her wearing so little, the room is wonderfully warm, and upon its dark shiny floor that reflects her pale skin she finds a long, lacquered table. There are only two chairs, one set at each end, and the far one is occupied by Ben.

Rey stops to survey him. He has showered and changed too, wearing the full uniform and cape that comes with his rank. He is at home here, she realizes. In his element. In total control. Her self-consciousness only intensifies at the revelation and she blushes; it is as if this is the first time they have met.

In a way, she thinks, it is.

He stands. When he sees the full measure of what she is wearing, he goes perfectly still, and yet he gives away nothing. She only blushes further. He is wholly contained and she is a well read and open book.

The droid seats her at the opposite end and begins to serve dinner. There are a dozen dishes on offer, but Rey hardly notices. She cannot take her eyes off her husband and he cannot take his eyes off her. After a few minutes of attempting to eat, Ben snaps his fingers and the droid leaves. There is only the sound of her breathing; it feels unnaturally loud in her ears. Rey is poised on a knife's edge, teetering in anticipation and also a little bit of fear. She has been scared of this man before but now there is no danger, only the heightening of desire, a surge in her hunger.

"You are too far away," he says. "Come here."

Rey obeys. Her limbs are made of liquid but somehow she makes it. She stands next to where he sits. She looks down at his untouched plate.

"Aren't you hungry?" she says.

"Starving," he tells her, and the look he gives her makes her knees give way.

She is aware of plates and dishes being swept off the table. Large hands lift her by the waist and sit her where his meal should go.

"You are beautiful," he says. His expression has turned feral; Rey feels her heart striking like a fist inside her chest. "What do you think of this place?" he asks conversationally.

"I…" she struggles to find the words, to think of any words at all. "It… does things to me."

"What things?"

"I feel weak. Strange. It makes me want you."

"Is that so strange?"

No, she thinks. "I always want you. I want you so much that sometimes I think it will consume me."

"Will you let me?"

"Let you what?"

"Consume you."

"Yes," she says. " _Please._ "

He stares at her for a long time. First her eyes, and then everywhere else, his eyes skimming over her like fingers and she can feel his touch burn through her, as if a trick of the Force. The weight is heavy and warm and overpowering; she feels drunk off his power. She has never sensed him so powerful before.

After what might be an eternity, he takes his gloved finger and pushes the fabric covering one breast to the side, displaying the smooth pink of her areola and the hard nub of her nipple. He does the same to the other until both breasts are exposed. His hands slide under her ass and pull her to the edge of the table. Her breasts hover before his face; if he wanted he could lean forward and brush the tips with his nose, but he stays unmoving. Just looks at her, eyes dark and intent. His breathing deepens, becomes stronger. She squirms with arousal, desperate for some kind of pressure between her legs, but his fingers dig into her ass to still her.

"Shhh," his voice is so soothing. "Do not move unless I say. Understand?"

She whimpers a yes.

"Good girl," the sound of his voice causes her wetness to flood, so much that she can smell it.

With his eyes on hers, he leans forward and takes a nipple into his mouth. Just enough to allow the heat and the moisture of his lips to rest against her.

Then, without warning, he sucks.

Her hips buck off the table and it takes both his hands to hold her down. He draws in deeply, as if he could drink from her, and she feels it in her core. Rey moans. She gasps. She is going to die and she wants to. She wants him to stop and keep going and it is torture and it is perfect and she never wants it to end. He switches sides and she has the same reaction, even more so. The pleasure is brutal and unrelenting and she is scooting closer to him until he squeezes the tops of her thighs to a point that is sweetly painful. His voice is rough when he speaks.

"You promised not to move." She stills herself but is trembling, sure the effort is going to kill her; right now she would do anything to make him start again.

He does. He works her tits until she fears she is losing her mind, until her cries become pleas, until there is a damp spot visible through the silk between her legs. Still he does not stop, taking his pleasure long and slow. Impatient, she grabs his head to hold him closer, to thread her fingers through his thick, beautiful hair, but he untangles them and with an iron grip splays her palms to the table.

"Lie down," he commands.

She does. She braces herself on her elbows and watches as he slides her gown up, his hands caressing the lengths of her legs as he does so. She watches him briefly taste the wet place she has made and moans again loudly, her head falling back and thudding against the tabletop. She does not mean to be so vocal but she is a siren, an echo chamber; she is noise and friction and a billion atoms colliding, a supernova exploding.

He spreads her thighs wide and lowers his face between them, his eyes never leaving hers. He watches her even as he begins to lick. Rey is lost. He probes inside with his tongue and drags it up to suck at her most sensitive spot. Rey is unraveling, she is crying, she is begging for release, for his dick in her cunt or her mouth or anywhere he wants to put it, for every filthy thing she can imagine. For him to set her free.

Mouth still devouring her, he reaches up a hand and wraps it around her airway—not enough to hurt and far from enough to suffocate, but enough to reduce her screams to needful whimpers. After a few moments she realizes that he's slowing her breathing so she won't hyperventilate. It changes the sounds she makes into something lower and more breathy, a deeper pitch that begs him, a voice laced with nothing but sex.

You enjoy this, she thinks, and it is almost as if he can hear her for she feels him—she godsdamned feels his mouth curve and smile against her. She can hear the squelch of moisture, a visceral primitive sound, and feel his gloved hands come up to play with her already over-sensitized breasts. It is all too much and she comes apart with a sudden, noiseless scream, her body rigid as he drinks from her every last drop that she has to give. Until she has melted to the surface of the table, until she is nothing at all.

Fuck me, she thinks.

"No, not here," he says, smiling as she realizes she has spoken out loud.

He scoops what is left of her off the table and carries her back to the bedroom. He lays her upon the bed and she watches as he strips off his clothes. His deliberate controlled movements, the fixed order that he works, makes her want to touch herself until she comes again. She wants to touch him too, to mark him, to suck him off until he begs for mercy, but she cannot move. She is as pliable as the ragdoll she made for herself back on Jakku, something to possess and play with and care for, to do with as she pleased back then; she is unresisting as he slides the dress from her body and positions her as he wishes, his great body crowding over her and she spread out beneath.

When he enters her, it is as if for the first time. And when he comes, hours later it seems, after her body has been used and pleasured and fashioned only to hold his cock—when he finally cries out with a power that shakes the floor and spends himself inside her—she feels as if she will never be cold again.

* * *

"My love?"

"Yes?"

She is humming the song again, the one she used to sing to herself in sweet, precious moments of contentment, when the sands were hot but still, the winds silent, the sun low and friendly. She is a sated pet draped across the solid bulk of her master. She hums and strokes his skin, drawing her fingers over jagged ridges of scar tissue, smooth undulating planes of muscle, the dark responsive circle of a nipple. His hisses and she kisses him there, nips; he growls but it is a purr from him. She knows his sounds, his wants, his sights, his smells. She knows how to please him. She would please him forever. She would be his faithful servant, his favorite toy. She thinks she almost forgets who she is.

"Feeling better?" he says.

How does she feel? She is married. She, a discarded orphan of Jakku, forgotten scrap that shriveled and hardened in the desert, salvaged now and soft and wanted again. She is the wife of a prince. Her husband. Dark and strong and beautiful. He has chosen her. She does not understand but she is grateful, oh so grateful for this fate. To be with him. To be completely his.

"I feel consumed," she confesses. "Not weak like before. Just overwhelmed, I guess."

"I know."

"How can you tell?" She sits up, elbow digging into his breastbone as she watches him. He snatches her arm and kisses her wrist.

He smiles. "You are quiet."

"Ass!"

She swats his face, curls up atop his body as he wraps his arms around her. She is safe amongst the Darkness, in the heart of this volcanic star that is his home; like his heart, she thinks. Something too dangerous to be close to but he lets her live here. His grandfather’s castle. She thinks about the memory of Vader. There is no monster here, just her monster; her loving monster of a husband.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything," he says.

"Why is there a bacta tank in the refresher?"

His body shifts. He lies behind her, pulling her back to his chest; she can feel he finally grows weary. "It was where Grandfather slept," he says. He draws the sheet over them with the Force and Rey wants to ask, she has so many questions: who is Vader? Who was this man? How did he live? Just what is he to you—?

"Rest now," her husband says, and his words are a command; she must obey and she yawns.

"Ben…"

"Ssh."

He whispers words of love, of reassurance, of the promise of dreams where he is always with her and she is never alone. Her eyes close and she can cling to consciousness no longer. Only to the man who holds her in his sacred kingdom.

Rey sleeps like the dead with Death by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG OMG OMG!! Right after I posted this, Shuns dropped her Malrock masterpiece [Between a Rock and Hard Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013777). If you love Malaak, and Malaak making bad decisions, and Economics! and Accounting!, and Janet Effing Yellen!!!, and superstealth feels!! and so many amazing shoutouts!! and so much love for the comments section!!--OMG PLEASE GO AND CHECK OUT THIS FIC AND SEND HER SOME LOVE. It is absolutely glorious.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OMG THIS HAS BEEN SUCH A WEEK, Y'ALL. And this chapter took a lot of wrestling, but I hope I finally got it right. I want to give a special shoutout to the comments section for being such a wonderfully encouraging place. This one is for y'all. <3

"Eas’d the putting off  
These troublesome disguises which we wear."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Kylo tries to meditate.

He sits on the edge of volcanic rock overlooking the lava seas. In this place his grandfather—Darth Vader—had been born. Not born but transformed. Altered. Tragedy changed him. The Dark offered solace. Kylo ruminates. He thinks back. He considers all he has learned.

It is hard to meditate. He is distracted. He breathes, inhaling hot, pungent air, the feel of it burning his throat and centering him. He closes his eyes.

 _Peace is a lie. There is only passion._  
_Through passion I gain strength._  
_Through strength I gain power._  
_Through power I gain victory._  
_Through victory my chains are broken._  
_The Force shall set me free._

There was a time when these words could ground him. He had rejected the Jedi code. He did not belong. His power was not accepted by those who saw the Light as the only way. There was too much Darkness within him. He loved. He felt so deeply. His heart seemed too big for his body and it hurt that those around him feared what he carried inside it.

Peace is a lie. He learned that the hard way. Passion came easy. He grew stronger. Snoke whispered the words but he knew them already. This is who you are. This is who I am. Heir apparent to Lord Vader.

He finally knew who his grandfather was. It seemed like his grandfather might be the only one to understand.

It took Kylo sixth months to find the charred helmet. No longer on Endor. The grave had been robbed by thieves who traded in Dark side artifacts. Kylo knew them from other pieces he had found. There was no trade involved when he found them this time. He was Vader’s grandson. He would make Grandfather proud.

The mask rarely spoke to him. The voice seemed so quiet and Kylo spent most of their conversations ignoring the suspicion that he made the voice up. But he felt what traces of the Force still lingered in the object. He felt a recognition. He drew on the Dark because the Light had rejected him. There was so little left, so little to begin with, and it hurt to be "good", to play the obedient Jedi like Luke insisted, as if being Ben Solo was a terrible affront.

Kylo knows passion. He knows it so well. Hurt and anger and pain and rejection. These are the facets of love. Want and hunger and jealousy and lust. He is learning more sides to his emotions. Not all of them pure. None of them in the tethered, tame way that the Jedi demand. He does not feel Lightly. He only knows that he feels.

The breathing slows. His fingers on the ground delve into ashy particles. Tendrils of the Force reach out. They penetrate through the rock, beyond the crust, into the raging, fiery core of this orb. He feels the Dark. It reaches back for him. It is kind as a lover. Desperate and needy too. It hungers in the way he does. He hears the spirits, those he chooses, all the dead that sing and know this song, all the ones that lie not in peace but in passion. He is renewed. He is strong.

He is the grandson of Darth Vader. Jedi killers joined by blood.

The connection goes. Kylo opens his eyes. He is breathing heavily. The sulfur clogs his lungs. The heat of the lava is enough to redden his face. His eyes water and he cannot stay here now. He has stayed for too long. He wanders back. Occasional lava fleas flutter along the molten surface of the red rivers, huge insects once tamed by the natives that lived here, they are feral now. Lost creatures feeding on the planet’s ores. On the northern hemisphere a few native enclaves remain. But Kylo never goes there and they never dare venture here, not with the visage of the castle. When Kylo found this place, it seemed as if it waited just for him.

He enters via an underground passageway. It leads into caves originally created to mine the ores where the lakes of lava still run high. The Dark is richest here. Kylo is drunk but this kind of intoxication always calms him. It is not the Dark that distresses him. Not the knowledge of the dead, how he can see and hear them at will and do their bidding. No. He steps onto an elevator that runs the full height of the castle. He stops at the penultimate floor. The doors open, but he stays where he is. He cannot face this yet. The one place he should go, the place that he always seeks. He is drawn to another. At the top he gets off. The bedroom is cast in orange light that pulses through the constant black clouds. He can see her beneath the sheets. He goes to her and lays down, pulls her body against his.

"Ben?"

She is soft and warm and naked. He strips off his gloves and reminds himself of the smoothness of her skin, the places she is hairless now. She sighs and turns into him.

"Good morning to you."

"It is almost lunchtime," he says.

She sits up. "How long have I slept?"

"Long enough." He pulls her back down and he kisses her. She accepts his love. Does she accept everything? He does not want to ask as she removes his clothes, as he lies back and she rides him. What kind of Jedi is this? Tits bouncing in his palms and her murmuring his name like a prayer with all the passion. She is a feeling creature just like him. He feels the Light inside her but she is not meant for peace. She is meant for him. Does she see it now? The fading line on her arm where their blood became one. Please do not tempt me back. Do not ask. Just accept who I am. Accept this.

"Yes! Yes!" Her hands flat to his chest, she is so close now. "I love you. So good—so good."

I am not good, he thinks as she comes tight around him.

They shower together. She does not mention the bacta tank again. He sees her glance at it as they return to the bedroom to dress. He puts on training clothes, loose black pants and top. She rummages around and can only come up with lingerie. He smiles as she frowns. "Give me that." He pulls off his shirt and she wears it; it hangs like a shroud.

"Should I stay shirtless?" he says.

"Yes." Her eyes behold him without any shyness now.

His shirt reaches halfway down her thighs. She wears nothing else. He starts to harden again. She is in his clothes. Does she smell like him too? Can he mark her in some other way? She is too busy to care, going to a vase of flowers. The bouquet that she carried when they wed but the flowers seem denser. So many kriffing needle blossoms with their purple blooms and blood-red roses mixed in. She pulls several out and places them in her hair, weaving its length into a knot.

"What are you doing?"

"I’ve not seen one other plant here," she says.

"You’ve not seen anything."

"Show me then." She wraps her arms around the bare length of one of his. "Feed me first. But then you must show me everything."

They kiss in the elevator. She makes it stop and gets down on her knees and takes him into her mouth. The walls bend as he comes; the entire car shakes. She smiles, wiping her wet lips as she looks up at him and he wonders if this is all the influence of Mustafar or if this is who she really is.

"Still hungry?" he manages.

She nods as she climbs back to her feet.

He takes her to a large living space with a hearth carved out of the obsidian walls. Instead of flames, lava pours, flowing down to the disused mines underneath. Rey—his wife, he reminds himself, still partly disbelieving—sits on the floor before it. She is happy if she is warm, he knows. She takes a plate of food and eats cross-legged while he sits and watches from a sofa, black like all the rest. He is ravenous like her. They eat in silence, but he watches. She is drawn to the fireplace, to the hypnotic lava flow.

"Where does it go?" she says.

"All the way down."

"Can you show me?"

He once made a promise kneeling at her feet: he would show her anything. He will not break that promise now.

"Later."

"Why?"

"You are hardly dressed for it."

"Neither are you."

"Do you want to explore so badly?" he says.

"Give me your pants."

He does. He feels her eyes on his back as he returns naked to the bedroom.

She is not there once he is dressed, back in his usual uniform. He corners a droid, which beeps in surprise since he so rarely addresses them, and demands to know where she has gone.

"Down in the elevator, my Lord."

Down. Down there without him. Does she even have shoes?

It feels like a long time until he reaches the cave level. The doors open, and he steps out onto uneven rock, hot beneath the thick soles of his boots. The lava spits and gurgles like a living thing. In some ways it is. This is the planet’s blood. This is the Dark side’s soul. Kylo calls for Rey. He reaches out with the Force.

"Make it stop!"

Did he hear the words echo off the walls or in his head? He runs, sinking on the fluid ash. Skidding down a sudden slope. There is a black figure curled up at the bottom. Invisible against the black sands except for the purple and red flowers in her hair. She is swallowed by his clothes and the walls of the cave. The lava laps nearby and Kylo treads carefully to avoid it.

"Rey? What is it?"

"Don’t you hear it?" She blinks and looks up at him. "It’s quiet now." Tears stream down her face, which is pink from the heat and whatever reason she is crying. "It’s quiet. Oh Gods."

She clutches her head and cries more.

"What don’t I hear?" He crouches down beside her. "Tell me."

"They were tortured."

"Who?"

"The Jedi. Someone brought them here and did such awful things. There is no peace. They are trapped. They all cry in the lava. They yelled at me and they wouldn’t stop. They were so loud until—"

He holds her to him. "Until I came."

"Yes."

Kylo sits in the hot sands and pulls her into his lap. Her nose nudges his neck and he can feel the air tickle his skin as she sniffles.

"Can you hear them now?" she says.

"No."

"Why don’t you try?" She knows he can. Before the bond broke and even after she learned what he did, what he can do. There is more that he has not tried yet. Before when he meditated he let the voices of the Dark side talk but he did not think of any others. There are so many. So many things he does not know.

He holds her tight. "I will not let them harm you."

"I know."

So he closes his eyes and he concentrates. He lets them come. Like emerging from underwater, ears popping and sound becoming clear. The voices yell. They scream. He can see them through his eyelids, red shadows, some in green and yellow and blue and white and even lilac. Drowning in the lava. Begging for release.

He looks at them. Who did this? he thinks.

Vader! Vader! Please save us from Darth Vader!

No.

Rey clings; her nails bite through his tunic to his skin. "It’s so loud."

"I know." One large hand cradles her head. "You must be quiet." The voices die down. "Come. Let me help you."

The lava bubbles violently. Dozens of spirits rise up. Rey’s eyes are scrunched shut but Kylo does not think she can see them quite like he does. They come to him. They reach out and touch his face and as each one does, he is witness to their story. Brave Jedi. The last remaining few. The final threat to the Empire. To be tortured not just for information but for fun. To wipe the Light side out. To tempt them towards Darkness.

"I am sorry," Kylo says. "I am sorry. I am sorry."

There are so many. He is exhausted when he is done. The lava stills; he has never seen it so calm. He blinks. Rey looks at him. She is holding his face. She is stroking it, wiping away tears he is not aware he has made.

"It’s okay. It’s quiet now. You helped them, Ben. You helped them."

He hugs her and she lets him squeeze too harshly. He needs the comfort. He needs to feel her, a tangible presence in his arms.

"I did not know," he whispers.

"But you do now."

He does not say yes. Yes, I know. But do you know what else he did?

This time it is Rey who helps Kylo back to the elevator. He feels he is leaning onto her as the car rides up. They return to the lounge and she sits him on the sofa. She lies next to him and draws him down so his full length is stretched out and his head is cushioned on her chest.

"You must talk to me," she says.

"What about?"

"How you absorb the dead."

"I don’t absorb—"

"But it weighs heavy on you."

"Yes."

She runs her fingers through his hair; she kisses his brow. This is a Light side trick. To offer comfort. To show him care. He is amenable. He is susceptible to this. Like a child in his mother’s arms, he is safe here. "It is my burden too," she tells him.

"No—"

"We are married. We are bonded by blood. I will help you. I will always help you, Ben."

He wants to tell her thank you and I love you and I will always help you. But he is tired. He closes his eyes and lets her hold him. He closes his eyes and falls asleep to the brilliant beat of his Jedi wife’s heart.

* * *

She waits until he is unmoving, until his breathing is regular and his body heavy. She feels almost his full weight upon her.

He is rarely as exhausted as this. She wriggles her way out and brushes his hair back and kisses his cheek. She remembers him sleeping in the throne room and sleeping in the library and he is so beautiful. She always falls asleep before him and he always wakes before her; she does not get the chance to see him like this. She thinks he looks peaceful. She can sense what the dead spirits have taken out of him. They do not need the bond for she can read him now, she can read the Force. His blood has become hers and he is a part of her.

She returns to their bedroom. She will change out of his clothes. Hot and dusty with sweat and ash. Sticky with tears. She had not been prepared for the voices. So much worse than anything before. So much pain and suffering. She thought she would go mad. She thought she did until Ben appeared. She does not know how he can endure it. There is a core of steel inside him; sometimes molten metal but it can cool and harden. The same core runs through her too.

She is used to the Dark now. She has slept for so long. She has succumbed to her desires. She has been his plaything. He has been her plaything too.

She enters the refresher and removes Ben’s clothes. Naked, her hand brushes the bacta tank. She can see her reflection. She can feel nothing in the Force. She quickly washes and goes through all her clothes, settling on a full-length gown of blue silk, deep like the twilight sky. Her back and shoulders are exposed but the front is demure. It is modest compared to the rest she has worn but it makes her feel delicate and feminine, something she thinks she is not. She adds more flowers to her hair. She puts on the necklace Ben gave her. She looks at her reflection again in the glass of the bacta tank. A different woman looks back. She hears a different voice beside her.

_You look beautiful._

A man’s, but not her husband’s. She turns, but no one is there. Please no more voices, she thinks. She does not want to wake him. He deserves to sleep. She will sit and watch him as he watches her. Be there when he wakes for once. Let him know he is not alone.

She enters the elevator and the voice talks again. Whispers a name. It is strange. The elevator jerks. The doors open only one floor below. She has not been here, to this darkened room, but something calls to her. Is it the Dark? Is this like Plagueis? She wants to heed all the warnings, learn the lessons of before, but the Force is not a teacher. It is out of her control.

The room is dark except for a single light overhead. On the walls she can see shelves and the shadows of objects, but the light draws her to a single place. A raised platform housing a twisted mask. Even charred and disfigured, it is unmistakable.

Vader.

Rey steps forward. Her hand reaches out to touch it and the room turns cold.

Just beyond the helmet she can see something. A shimmer of pale blue. It flickers for a moment, materializing into the holo of a man.

He is beautiful, she thinks. Tall and blond, and as beautiful as Alec, though this man's eyes are warmer. There is a scar on his face that begins above his right eye; it reminds her of the one she gave to Ben. He is as tall as Ben; younger though, but with the same assured gaze. He wears black Jedi robes. One of his hands is metal and the other appears flesh and blood. It is the latter that reaches out for her.

"Padme?" the man says. "Padme, is it you?"

Rey cannot move. The hand makes contact with her cheek, tracing her skin with a whisper-soft touch.

"Who... who is Padme?" she says.

The image frowns. It begins to transform, becoming something ugly and deformed. The eyes glow yellow; the skin is white and scarred. Rey steps back in fear but there is no need—the image is gone.

Has she made it angry? Heart pounding, she waits but it does not return. She searches with the Force but there is nothing. It is only her and the mask, molded from the same face.

Be brave, she thinks. You need to know. Be brave. You can do this. And she does.

Her fingers make contact and then the visions come.  
  
A boy in the desert. A slave for a mother. He is taken and raised by strange men. He is the Light. He is the chosen one. So much power. It comes easy. But other things are hard. How he misses her. His mother dies. He takes revenge but it is not enough.

The boy becomes a man, a beautiful man. He loves a girl. The girl is a woman now. This is love. What is wrong? Why can’t the Jedi love? But see how the Jedi are wrong? How they lie? Have you ever heard the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?

He knows what he must do. Kill them all. Even the younglings. He cuts every one of them down. Standing on a shore of molten lava. The woman comes to him, swollen with child. She wants him to change. He cannot lose her. This is for you, he thinks, as she falls, unmoving. This is for you as he fights his brother. As he lies mutilated. As he suffers. As he rises beneath the protection of a mask. I did this for you. But the woman is gone.

_Padme._

Rey falls to her knees. She cannot breathe. She touches the necklace and it burns.

* * *

Kylo does not wake gradually from sleep; he never does. A sudden gasping. The fear of threat, of what or who he might find. Sleep will never come easy and waking will always be hard. He looks around. Rey is gone. He is sitting on the sofa. Was she here at all or a far-off dream? Has she left him again like before? Taken his father’s ship. Rejected what he offered.

The elevator doors open, and Rey runs out. She wears a dark gown that flows as she moves. Too many flowers in her hair but the necklace is on. She is a goddess. She is the image of life.

He stands. "Rey?" She throws herself into his arms.

He holds her, aims to soothe her as she did for him. Her hands clutch at the front of his tunic and her face presses to his chest. She murmurs words and he struggles to hear them. He asks her to repeat them.

"Who is Padme?" she says.

Kylo’s whole body goes rigid.

"Did Vader kill her? Ben, I saw him."

"Who?"

"Anakin! Your grandfather! Are they not all the same?" Her hands cover her face as she says, "I saw what he did. Such terrible things."

Kylo pulls her hands away so he can see her. "You must tell me, Rey. What happened?"

She recounts all she saw, what she felt, trembling as he holds her against him; by the end he is shaking too.

"I had only heard stories. The kind used to frighten children so that they might behave. They did not seem real. But they are. How can you bear it, Ben?"

He cannot. "My grandfather was a monster," he says. "He tortured those Jedi. He killed younglings." These are the truths that he cannot face, that cannot be buried. He thinks of Nan and Petra on their rainforest planet, innocent and loud and hopeful, and if he could cut them down to save the life of Rey. Does he have lines that he will not cross now? Is that what she has made of him?

"He did it for love," Rey says. "The Jedi made him deny it and the Sith only twisted it but he loved her."

"Yes."

"Would you do the same?"

He thinks of all the dead he has touched. The souls of the younglings he released. What would he do for her? You have changed me, he thinks. I have told you this. I do not know myself. Not as I did before. I am something else. I barely feel like Kylo Ren. Is it still enough for you?

"I would do whatever you ask of me," he says.

She holds his face between her hands. "I know." She wraps her arms around him. "I know."

They stand holding each other in the heat of the lava flow. He bows his head, buries his face in her hair. He can smell the flowers. She is so real and so warm. Blood and flesh made his own. He whispers the words, "It is time that I showed you."

He takes her hand and leads her back to the elevator. Rey is quiet as he presses the button for the floor below their rooms. He takes his lightsaber off his belt. He is the killer of Jedi and the husband of the last; he is the destroyer of the dead. Who would I destroy for you? Not children but worse. My idols. My family.

The doors open. Kylo ignites his saber and enters the room, awash now in its violent red glow. Rey holds his other hand and he keeps her behind him. He is guarding her; he will protect her from anything.

"You have hidden long enough," he says. A phantom threatened his wife. He is angry. There is no loyalty but to her. "Let me see you."

He opens himself to the dead. He calls them forth. The room is hauntingly quiet. Until a voice calls back:

"You have no need of that with me."

A man appears, tall and translucent and bathed in light. The same beautiful visage that Rey described. He and Kylo stand eye to eye; the mask stands between them. This is Anakin Skywalker, he thinks. Grandfather. The man who he spent so many nights praying to, revealing all his fragile hopes and hidden fears, waiting for a sign; the man he would have given anything to talk to—now, Kylo points his saber at his throat.

"You will not harm her."

Anakin raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I am sorry," he says, looking through Kylo to Rey. Kylo feels her move to peer around him. "I mistook you for someone else. My wife," he says. "You are wearing her necklace. For a moment I thought…" he shakes his head. "Please forgive me."

He knows Rey wants to talk but Kylo holds her back; he keeps his blade poised. "Is that all this is? Why you chose to appear to her and never me? Or did you sense the Light and think to destroy it?" He takes a step forward, his arm stretched over the mask. "I saw what you did. In the caves. The Jedi you tortured. Did you seek another to add to your collection?"

The ghost changes into the mutilated old man. He slumps back against the shelves that line the wall as if he could lean on them.

"You are right to think such things of me. There is no denying what I have done." He looks at Kylo with sad eyes. "And as for my silence to you, you can blame that extraordinary gift of yours. So many times I have wanted to speak to you. To let you know you were not alone. To try and convince you not to make my mistakes."

Kylo does not realize his sword arm is shaking until Rey rests her hand upon it and lowers the saber, switching it off.

"You are sorry," she says.

"Sorry?" The deformed face of his grandfather is scarred further by anguish. "Sorry is for when you overheat the caf. I am paying for my sins from beyond the grave. I must. This is how I grieve for her. It is the only way she can be at peace."

"Padme?" Rey has let go of Kylo. She is standing at the ghost's feet—when did she get over there? Kylo still grips his lightsaber. This is all so surreal, he can do little more than watch.

Anakin nods. "Her soul is not at rest. There are things I did—" he pauses. "She was not like you and Ben. She could not manipulate the Force. In death, her soul cried out in despair. It does not know how to stop."

"So you must help her," Rey says. "But how?"

"By repairing the mistakes of my past."

"And that will work?"

The ghost shrugs, a strangely human gesture for one no longer living. "There is no set path for things like this. And no guarantee I will ever find her. But I must try. Even if I spend eternity—"

"It would be enough," Rey says. "Even if you never see her again. It would be enough to know she is at peace."

Anakin gives a sad smile. "You are so much like her." He looks up at Kylo. "My grandson chose well."

Rey looks back at Kylo. "It is I who am blessed." She smiles and something inside Kylo clenches; it hurts. "How can we help?" she says, returning her gaze to Anakin.

"This is my burden and mine alone. I'm just thankful to have seen you both." The ghost straightens up, draped in the long gowns of Darth Vader. "I must go. There are many things left to do. But if you should have need of me I will come to you." He reaches for Rey and Kylo reacts; he will not touch her.

"It is okay," Rey says.

He stands behind her then and watches as his grandfather caresses Rey’s cheek. "Brave, kind girl," he says, and the hand reaches back to rest on Kylo's shoulder. "My remarkable boy." Kylo feels his whole weight behind it, the burden of his legacy, his crushing lineage. Still Kylo stands tall. "You were always stronger than me," the ghost proudly says.

Kylo blinks. His eyes sting with wetness that trails down his cheeks. "Grandfather—"

Anakin shakes his head. "None of that. We will see each other again." And his hand fades from Kylo’s shoulder and his outline transforms back into mist.

Kylo is staring at the darkened shelves, at his lifetime’s collection that seems suddenly worthless now. Something turns. Small arms reach around him, hold him by the waist. A perfect face gazes up at him, more flawless than any mask.

"Ben?" a voice says.

Ben looks down at his wife. He is Ben now, he thinks. He always has been. "Yes?"

"There is something we should do."

They go back to the caves. There are no spirits now, only peace, only quiet, the gentle hum of the lava, gurgling intermittently like a contented infant. They kneel in the ash and Rey digs a small hole. She places something in his hands. Once his most precious possession. His grandfather’s funeral mask.

"Bury it, Ben."

He does. He buries Darth Vader and he buries Kylo Ren. He takes off his gloves and lets his hands truly blacken. The earth feels warm and real on his skin, beneath the nails of his fingers. He sees Rey's hands beside him; she is digging another hole.

"What are you doing?" he says.

She struggles with the clasp of his grandmother's necklace. Ben reaches behind her, stilling her fingers as he slips it off. "Thank you," she says and places the necklace in the hole she has made, right beside the buried mask. "They should rest together. Until he can find her again."

He covers it with dirt. Rey takes flowers from her hair and lays them on the fresh graves.

"For sleep and fertility," Ben says. She looks at him and he takes her hand. "The needle blossoms."

"I didn’t know."

"It does not matter."

"But it is right." Then she smiles. "Don’t let the past die. Let it sleep."


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Omg, y'all. Omg. Welcome to my own personal pain train. This chapter was hell to put together cos it was so high stakes and I was balancing like a million things and pretty much second-guessing myself the entire time. But here we are. Am praying I got this right.

"Live while ye may,  
Yet happy pair."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Rey has never been in love before.

There was always the hunger, yes, the scraping desire to be wanted, that someone would come back for her, that someone would care. For years that dream was the fiction of her parents. In the farthest and most hidden corners of her mind she remembers them walking away (she remembers their indifference). With time she painted over those memories as one might paint over a crack in a wall, hoping that it would cover the nasty truth, hoping that it might make things seem not as they were. For a while she believed it, and that belief became her sustenance. For a while it grew so strong that she could not see anything else; it took root and became a paralyzing fear that kept her tethered to the place where she had been left behind.  
  
But then, something changed. First with a little droid she couldn’t turn away (searching, just like her), and then a stormtrooper running from a life he didn’t choose. Even then she told herself it was temporary, that she would come back to waiting because that was what she had fashioned herself for. Except there was something else. Something within her, something that had never been awake before. The Force. She knows it now, though she didn’t understand it then. She didn’t even properly sense it until she came face to face with a monster in a mask, a monster who felt it too, a monster who put her to sleep and carried her off and meant to keep her because deep down he knew.

It feels like a lifetime ago, when she first saw those eyes. That haunted face, so dissimilar to the demonic mask he wore. He wanted her to stay. He broke into her mind and she broke into his and something happened, something that changed them and bound them even though it was impossible, even though it could never be anything more because she was Light and he was Dark and the battle lines were clearly drawn.  
  
Sworn enemies, chosen warriors, clear adversaries except for the same heartbeat echoing across time and space—  
  
_we are the same we are the same we are the same_  
  
She cannot name the exact moment she fell in love. Was it when their hands first touched? When he killed his master for her? The night she woke him in the library? The memories flow like water, each one enough, yet part of a greater tapestry. Sitting down to dinner in a humble peasants’ home. A feverish kiss in a thunderstorm. The warmth of the _Falcon_ ’s engine room as he moved above her. Holding her as she cried because there would be no children, at least not with her. The look on his face when they wed. The look on his face right now. She exists in no fixed point; she is everywhere at once, dipping into a stream and moved by the Force and through it, and though she no longer feels their bond, she feels him, knows him as if he were her own flesh. In a way, he is.

"What are you staring at?"

"You," she says.

He smiles, just a slight upwards tick at the corner of his mouth. He is so shy, she thinks, so strangely unassuming. She loves this about him.

He recovers, surveying the pile of datapads on his desk. His former shrine to Vader has become an office from which he runs the Empire (on the rare occasions she decides to let him leave their bed). "Read this," he says, tossing her one. "Tell me where I’ve gotten it wrong."

She catches it midair. "Everywhere, I’m sure." He gives her a haughty look, a deliciously arrogant quirk of one eyebrow. She loves this about him too; his unwavering confidence in his knowledge and intellect, his assumption of authority and his staggeringly powerful birthright. He wears the mantle of Emperor as if it were just another cloak. She is in awe; sometimes she is annoyed when it shows so plainly on her face (the differences between them, how unfit she is for all of this).

"Read," he says again, as if he can sense her wandering thoughts and disapproves of the ones that tell her she is less than what she is.

Rey scans the datapad. It is the final draft of the peace treaty with the Resistance and the fledgling constitution of the new government. You did this for me, she thinks, but she knows better than to be quite so self-centered. He did it in part because of her, but also because he chose it. Because it was the right thing to do. She settles in the chair that has become her own and reads as her husband requested. It is quiet as they both work in the room.

"It’s good," she tells him when she is done.

"You are never that easily satisfied."

Only when you take me, she thinks, which is what she wishes he was doing right now. "I am distracted."

He sighs. "Rey—"

"You should let Finn take a look at the stormtrooper release provisions. I think he might have some valuable insights."

Her husband frowns. She remembers when mention of another man’s name would send him into a boiling rage but now it is only a simmer, a fleeting moment of discomfort. She knows just by watching when he realizes she is right.

"I’ll see if my mother can locate him."

"He’s not already joined the delegation?" She has not heard from Finn in months, has not seen him since she said goodbye to him and Rose before they went into hiding. Why are they still gone? Is there something more important that Leia will not tell her? She thinks irritably that Leia will still not tell her a great many things and she wonders if this will change with the knowledge that Rey is her daughter-in-law.

(A part of her thinks it will only make things worse.)

"Not according to Malaak’s last report." Her husband can easily read her thoughts, even without the bond. "You miss him," he says.

She does not bother to deny it. It is a fact to which he will have to accustom himself. "I need friends," she says. "As do you."

He makes a particularly disdainful face at this, as if offended by the notion. "I have you," he says.

"You do," she agrees, though they both know that is not what she means. She goes to him now, sets her datapad aside and takes another from his hands and settles herself in his lap. He holds her there as if he was made for it.

"Are you happy?" he asks. There is a tentative note to his voice that breaks her heart.

She leans against him. "More than I have ever been." She wishes she could show him how much. She reaches out with the Force and for a moment there is a spark—a quick flash that tries to streak across the stars. As if something is growing. Or being repaired. Just as soon as she senses it, it is gone.

"Did you feel that?"

"No." He shifts to look at her. "Rey, what is it?"

"I… felt something," she says. "Do you think our bond could reconnect?"

His fingers tilt her chin up, thumb grazing her mouth, and he at least does her the courtesy to consider. "I have not read of a situation like ours. There is no way of knowing," he says. In other words: do not waste your hope.

Rey settles herself back against his chest. She feels it again, just a momentary tremor, and smiles to herself. He might not be inclined to believe it could happen, but she has enough hope for the both of them.

It is her enduring thought as she falls asleep in his arms.

* * *

Ben Solo has never been in love before.

When he loved as a child, it was greedy, always clinging to his mother’s skirts, always chasing after his father, always running to his Hosna when he was left time and again. Love was an ache. It seemed like a loss. What was given could never be enough. You have an ocean in your heart, his Hosna would say. Who could fill it? Who would want to when all around him seemed afraid?

He scared his wife too the first time they met. There was recognition there, the realization of what she was in the Force. Mostly though, he wanted her. He is possessive by nature. Selfish. Greedy, yes. But when did love come? He thought it was love so many times before but it was always the needy parts of him that held on too hard, that could not let go.

What scares him is how she has taught him to be selfless.

Now the ocean inside him is filled with all the things he would give up for her. It is endless. It is everything. Despite his jealousy and rage and the monstrous parts of his make up, she has made him a docile beast brought to heel by her quietest command.

He does not mind, he thinks as he stares at her sleeping form. My wife. How he loves her. It does not matter when or how, just that he does, that he has fallen; he is always falling and will never stop. He knows now what his recurring dream means, where she dragged him over a cliff’s edge. Why did he resist? What was there to fear?

To love is to be fearless, he thinks. He is trying to be brave. He is constantly terrified of something happening to her. It was only yesterday as they explored the planet’s surface that she scaled a rocky outcrop hanging one hundred feet over molten seas. All to see a lava flea. She had been so enamored, laughing and reaching for it, the insect somehow drawn to her outstretched hand. He had nearly lost his temper until she returned to his arms, delighting in his concern. He has learned that she desires it, craves his attention constantly. They are both so unused to having someone worry for them, his young wife more than anyone he knows.

But he does all the time. She sleeps too much here, he thinks, experiences odd fluctuations in the Force. He is anxious about the toll that Mustafar is taking on her. It has been almost five days. Yet she does not complain. Only demands more affection. Has physical urges that have grown and manifested in new and intriguing ways. He works hard to please her. And it pleases her most often when he takes what he wants.

They no longer have the bond, but there is a language to it, an unspoken knowing, a communion of bodies that words do no account for. He is aroused by the memories as he takes her to their rooms.

He lays her on the bed. She wears a gown of red today; he allows himself to drink her in. He can see all her scars, which are so much fewer than his. The line of their union on her forearm. The interlocking hands of raised tissue left by a Praetorian guard (he nearly lost all focus when he heard her cry out in pain). The slight mark on the opposing shoulder where he caught her as they sparred in a rain forest. Every scar she carries he has contributed to in some way. He thinks that she would likely relish the notion, as much as it bothers him.

My wife, he thinks. My love. My blood and bone and waking thought and dreaming moment. He leans down and kisses her temple, whispering the unvoiced secret in her ear:

"I am happy too."

He has the droids fetch his datapads so he may work in their rooms. He sits at a table from where he can see her. There are two vases of flowers now, her wedding bouquet having multiplied, that he has the droids move out of the way. She is never without her infernal needle blossoms—in her hair and between her breasts and slipped into the waist of her next to nothing gowns. Even the kriffing droids wear flowers as they whir around him, though he knows they much prefer to follow her, like eager water-puppies imprinted on a desert leopard. She allows it of course, welcomes it as she welcomes everything and everyone; it is her gift and her curse. She, the mender of lost and broken things, him most of all.

Watching her, he sighs. There are duties that still call. He has split his between pleasure during her short conscious hours and work while she sleeps, eating, training, reading and liaising with those at the palace as negotiations draw to a close. He switches on his communicator. It crackles to life and the small, flickering image of Malaak appears. The knight has been his eyes and ears during the Emperor’s absence. Rey lies behind the holo, body shifting invitingly in her sleep, and Ben must will himself to concentrate.

"My Lord," Malaak says.

"Did you get my message?"  
  
"Yes. There has been no change."

Malaaks seems as distracted as Ben feels. Unlike Ben though, he is shirtless.

"Are you alone?" Ben says.

"No, my Lord." Malaak is even less capable of lies than him.

"You do not offer your Emperor total privacy?"

"I—"

Ben hears another voice, a feminine one.

"I am interrupting something."

"No, my Lord."

The room behind Malaak is red. Ben knows where he is.

"Is my cousin sworn to secrecy too?"

Malaak splutters curses of mortification, and Ben smiles. "It seems there are no secrets left. I trust you will keep me informed?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Thank you. Oh—and Malaak? Have my mother send for the stormtrooper, F-N-two-one…" Ben corrects himself. "A man named Finn. She will know the one."

"Yes, my Lord."

He disconnects the call and watches as Rey stirs. She stretches like the stray cat he always thinks of, spine arching, her supple body a pleasing combination of tautness and curves.

She sees him. She smiles. She gives him a look more potent than any Force bond could conjure. "Come here," she purrs.

He is nothing if not her obedient servant.

* * *

Rey wakes before a fire, draped over her husband’s large form. She stares at the flowing lava in the hearth; it has become her favorite place in the castle.

She remembers only fragments of how she got here. Of her earlier mood, playfulness turned into a battle of wills that ended with her tied to the bed, bound and gagged and brought to pleasure with nothing but her husband's clever use of the Force.

She sensed that this was a territorial thing, a need to claim her and exert his control. She did not put up much resistance. Not when he made her come in five different ways before deeming that she was tame enough to be released. She remembers how he soothed and massaged and whispered the sweetest words to her, the dirtiest promises. Made her drink water. Carried her onto the elevator and down to the living area, where she stirred enough that they ate, intertwined.

Though she feels sated now, her husband is not. She knows he has been waiting all this time, watching and testing the waters. His fingers linger in her hair. She is a happy cat curled atop his chest but she feels tension in his muscles, a held breath, words that must be said.

"There is no change."

"With what?" She will play dumb. She knows of what he speaks but he must get to the point. He must let it out and she will hear him and she will listen and give him every answer that she can.

"You know," he says, for nothing gets past him. They are both too smart and know each other too well.

"But will you say it?" She leans up so she can see his face. "It’s okay, Ben."

His fingers pause in her hair and his eyes watch her darkly. "Alec. He does not wake."

"Is that all you had to tell me?"

"Are you disappointed?"

"How?"

"That he is not recovered."

"I am sad."

"Why?"

"I am afraid he will die."

She feels that he wants to move from beneath her but she holds him still between her thighs. "Ask me," she says. "What you hold inside. What do you want to know?"

"Look at me," and his large hand spans her chin so she can’t look anywhere but. "I must know, do you love him?"

"No."

There is no hesitancy and she feels the tension start to leak from beneath his ribs.

"He was my friend," she says, and this admission hurts. "He was my friend when you weren’t there and he was kind to me and I needed him then. I needed a friend."

"Rey—"

"I told you that I need friends."

"But it was more than that." His voice is low but holds no accusation. He only holds her, a rock of comfort, somewhere she will always be safe.

"It was more to him. I didn’t realize. I am not used to people..."

"Rey." Each time he says her name, she feels her resolution gone, her walls of defense crumble. And still he makes her look at him. "Not used to what?"

"To people loving me," she says.

"My darling." His grip is bruising but he is hugging her now; she is crushed to his chest. "My darling, you make it so easy."

"I am sorry," she says. "I did not mean… I am so sorry, Ben."

"Hush."

"I do not forgive him," she says. "I do not forget what he did. But I want him to live. I cannot let him die."

"He has no place in our lives."

"I know. I know. But it is still my fault—"

"You must not talk like this." He pulls back so he can see her tear-stained face. "It is not fair that I should love you who is so easy to love. Who loves so freely. I want to be enough. I want to be the only one, but I will always have to share you."

"Yes." She touches his face. "But not every part. Not here." She moves his hand to her breast. "Not here." She moves it lower. "Not like this." She kisses him, and he touches her there; yes. "And I will not share you."

He flips them over and hovers above her now. "I love you," he says. "I know no other way to be." And he kisses her so he can show her how. He removes what is left of her gown so she is naked and he is clothed. He kisses and touches her in every place that he loves and he tells her this; he kisses and touches all over her body.

When he enters her, it is not with need or possession; it is not to control. Her husband gives her his love in every thrust of his magnificent body and she clings to his strength, to his heart, to his words, to that love. I am worthy, she thinks. I am worthy of this.

He comes and there is only love inside her, only warmth, only his mouth as he slips down and feasts and brings her over the edge to join him.

"You are my Empress," he says, sitting up.

She is only half listening.

"When the treaty is signed, I will have you crowned." He leans over her, mouth glistening. "If I could have my way, I would have the galaxy watch me claim you like this." His kiss is bruising and possessive once more and she drinks both their tastes. "But we are constrained. We are beholden to tradition."

"Ben—"

"Yes, my love?"

"I am not ready."

Her confession slips out but it takes no thought at all. There is no hesitancy either. "I love only you but I cannot be your Empress."

Her husband looks down at her. He stands. He smashes a fist above the hearth that leaves a crack in the black wall.

"Ben, I am sorry." She stands up too, naked in the firelight. "We have not talked about—"

But she has lost him now.

"I will be back when you have come to your senses."

She watches him go. Outside, so he claims. She hears the _Falcon_ ’s engine and all the old fears return. He would not leave her here. He would not leave her, would he?

It matters not. She returns to their rooms and showers and changes. She finds a pure white gown and puts it on. She will sully it soon, but she needs something. She needs to find some peace.  
  
Back in the caves below the castle she sits at the newly dug graves. The flowers have grown. In the dark and the oppressive heat. There are flowers growing from the black earth. She touches them and feels how they are drawn to her, how the roots shoot down and the stalks shoot up and the petals flutter towards her fingers. She is Light. She is Life. She is the bride to Death, a Dark and sullen beast.  
  
She feels power spark in her fingertips. He can make her so angry. As she makes him. Love and rage seem so close together, both mingled as swirling cells in their blood. But what does he want? She remembers a decimated throne room and the desperation of his offer, to rule the galaxy at his side. Was it all about power? Or keeping her close?

She thinks of his grandfather. Consumed by the Dark just as her husband but something poisonous, something twisted. Seeking salvation in the same power, thinking that it could save his love. And yet when his beloved rejected his offer, in his anger he as good as killed her. Could it be the same with Ben? (But she knows there is no one less likely to harm her.) What if she refused? What if she asked him to go down a different path?  
  
The thoughts make her sad. She knows there are choices he cannot make. Responsibilities he is tied to as much as he is to her. She promised long ago that she would not turn him but must he do the same? Try to make her into something she is not—something she has no desire to be? She thinks of their life here, the quiet, the peacefulness, the blessed anonymity. She knows it is coming to an end.  
  
Tears flood her cheeks; she watches as they fall and land upon the graves of Anakin and Padme, the two cursed lovers. I do not want to be like them, she thinks. I do not want to be cursed. As the wetness hits the blossoms, they seem to grow. Rey digs her fingers into the dirt and pours her sadness out. She closes her eyes. She feels the ground shake, the whisper of new tremors in the Force. When she looks again, the flowers have grown in every direction.  
  
You are Life, she reminds herself and then another voice says: If you do not like this world, then create something else.

* * *

He cannot find her in their rooms. He cannot find her anywhere and the droids are no use. The Force is no use either. He is reminded of the panic he felt when Plagueis had her under his control. The gaping void. The hollow echo that resounded. It was as if all that he was had been drained from inside him. He was nothing. There was nothing without her. He has to stay calm. Without the bond, it will always feel empty. But he knows that she lives. He will always know this. He takes the elevator all the way down.

Start from the bottom, he thinks. Make your way back to the top. The doors open, and he steps out to lava and black earth and a garden of flowers.  
  
"Rey?"  
  
"You came!" She runs to him, dressed in white marred by ash and dirt. There are dozens of flowers woven in her hair like they are a part of her. She smells divine. She feels like heaven against him.  
  
"I am sorry," he says.  
  
"Don’t be."  
  
"I am so sorry."  
  
"No—"  
  
"Rey." He holds her by the shoulders. "Don’t argue with me." Her mouth is open and he smiles. "For once. Please."  
  
Her mouth closes. Ben reaches into his pocket, removing a small pouch, the item that he left her for (after he had orbited the planet twice to calm down). He places it into her hand. "I beg of you. Will you accept my apology?"  
  
She takes the pouch and empties the contents into an upturned palm. A pile forms of irregular stones in various colors, some composed of more than one shade mixed together in stripes and merging streaks and interlocking crystals. "What are they?" she says.  
  
"Minerals mined from the lava on this planet. There are still active mines on the north side."  
  
"You went there?"  
  
"I made friends with the locals." He rubs the back of his neck. "We had not met before. I thought it was time. They have domesticated lava fleas. A breeder promised me one. You could learn how to ride. I will take you—"  
  
"Ben."  
  
Her fingers still his lips. He is rambling; it is unbearable. "Hm?"  
  
"You bought these for me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Rey, they are precious stones. I thought you could make a new necklace. Or anything you like. Wear something that is yours from me."  
  
Her hand drops from his face and she looks down at the stones. She makes a fist around them.  
  
"Do you not like them?" he says.  
  
"They are…" She looks up at him and smiles. "How did you know?"

"How did I know what?"

"Just what I needed."

She throws her arms around him again and he holds her close; he holds her tight enough that her feet no longer touch the ground. "Forgive me, Rey."

"Forgive _me_."

From over her shoulder he can see all the flowers. "What did you do?"

She pulls back and he lowers her to standing. "Let me show you." She takes his hand and leads him to the spot that they buried his grandfather’s mask. The flowers are deepest here. A sea of needle blossoms and roses and other species that should not exist, have no right to be in the cruel conditions of this planet. She kneels down. "I made this." Vines seem to sprout up around her. One even grows to wrap around her finger.  
  
"How?"  
  
"The Force." She shrugs. "There is something inside me. Is this what you meant when you said…?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That I was made for you. Is that what I am?"

He kneels down beside her. "I do not know. The day of your creation was the day Hosna died, when I tapped into the Dark for the first time fully. It must have caused an imbalance and the Force sought out—"

"Me," she says. "I was the balance?"

"Powerful Darkness needs powerful Light."

He removes a glove and reaches for the flowers. He channels his energy in the way he is learning, in the way he has begun to master since Plagueis' death. He watches as the petals shrivel and die at his touch.

"I am a creature of destruction," he says, studying his hand. The admission is painful, an ugly truth he has fought hard to keep hidden. He is afraid to look up at his wife and have his monstrousness confirmed.

Rey takes his cursed hand. "You are perfect," she tells him and she kisses his palm. "You are mine."

"I—" he struggles to find words, can see how she looks at him with wonder instead of repulsion. "I need you, Rey. I need you beside me. You do not have to take any title. You can have every choice that there is, I will make sure of it. Just stay with me."

"I am here. See?" She lets the flowers grow all around them, even as they keep their distance from him. So many colors, not just the needle blossoms and roses. He recognizes shades the same as the gems of his grandmother’s necklace, white and yellow and green and ruby-red. "I exist wherever you are," she tells him. "And I will never leave you. Together we will find a way."

* * *

It is late, but Ben cannot sleep. He is too happy, too sated. He holds in his arms the most precious thing in the cosmos. In all his dreams, he could never have imagined something as perfect as her.

As them.  
  
He smiles. She sighs against him, nuzzling closer, even in sleep. He stares at her face and memorizes each detail. His eyelids grow heavy; his only thought is of her. He has nearly drifted off when she moves. A shudder at first that grows until she is shaking. She begins to thrash; she is fighting something, a bad dream he is powerless to stop.  
  
"Rey," he rubs warmth into her arms; her skin is cold to the touch. "Rey—"  
  
Her breathing becomes frantic, she cries out in pain. He is sitting upright now, doing his best to wake her. He can induce Force sleep but what is its opposite? Does such a thing even exist?  
  
"No," she whimpers. "No, please."  
  
Ben is dying; he cannot fix this. He holds her tighter, but she pushes him away with untold strength. Eyes still closed, she tumbles to the floor, panting heavily, down on her hands and knees. He is by her side in an instant.  
  
"Rey!"  
  
The communicator on the table buzzes angrily to life.  
  
_"My Lord! My Lord, are you there?!"_  
  
Ben is only where his wife is. She is looking at him. Everything else is silence.

* * *

It is her favorite dream. She is surrounded by the Force, at one with it, feels everything and is in everything and most of all feels him. His energy calls to her, its threads reaching out to wrap around her own, frayed ends that are mending and join inside her heart. At last, she thinks, at last. She has been so patient; she has waited for so long.  
  
Ben.  
  
She wants to wake so she can show him. All the Light. All her dreams. Her hope will always exist. She cannot give up hoping. So close. The Light pulls. There is a direct stretch, a length she can see. She walks its distance and she is walking towards him. To sights and sounds and smells and is this what he sees? What he hears? What he feels?  
  
Ben—  
  
The Light becomes clearer. Glass panels with bright bulbs behind them. Metal and brick. The beeping of machines. The whirring of droids. The breathing of lungs. They are breathing. She can feel it. He is awake.  
  
Ben, can you feel it too?  
  
Ben?  
  
A face appears before hers. Delicate and pale. And a name. Not his name. What is happening to her?  
  
_"Alec, can you hear me?"_  
  
You are life, a voice says. You can create. You have created this.  
  
No, she thinks. No, please—

She tries to run but there is no escape; strong arms are trying to imprison her. No, she thinks, she screams, she fights with every fiber of her being. I didn't mean to, I didn't mean—  
  
I did not mean to create this.  
  
But there is no escape. She is in his mind. She can see with his eyes. The bond has returned.  
  
Ben, where are you? I need you! Please!  
  
But she is tied to another.


	39. APRIL FOOL’S EXTRAVAGANZA

_**The chapter that is not a chapter** _

Hello, dear readers! No, this is not Chapter 39. I'm barely recovered from Chapter 38 and destroying everyone's hopes and dreams with the newly resurrected Force bond. And since it is April 1st, I thought it might be fun to do a recap of tropes already covered in this fic, and if you can think of any that haven't shown up yet, please let me know in the comments section (because if there's one thing I take seriously in my space trash soap operas, it's a well informed and comprehensive use of tropes.) Tropes are life. They also come with a delicious and slightly smokey aftertaste. And, as always, brownie points for effective trope subversion (double the flavor without the calories!)

Tropes Covered So Far:  
• Bad Guy chases Good Girl (across the galaxy)  
• Bad Guy calls for bad guy meetup of other bad guys  
• Good Girl tries to run and hide  
• Inappropriate Force Bond usage (i.e., oops I totally did not mean to catch u taking a bath)  
• Gratuitous nudity (see above)  
• Beauty and the Beast syndrome (i.e., Bad Guy kidnaps all her friends until she agrees to ~~be his prisoner~~ come live with him)  
• Lovers separated by impossible circumstances ~~broken-ass Force Bond~~  
• Creepy haunted castle ~~Sith palace~~  
• Women wandering gothic locales in flimsy nightgowns  
• Love triangle  
• Best friends in love with the same woman  
• BALCONY SAVING  
• Paradise planet daytrip!  
• Tragic fallen prince backstory  
• Sexy sparring  
• Big scary dude being awesome with children  
• Dinner date!  
• Rain kissing  
• Visions of Despair™  
• ANGST™  
• MAKEOVER!!  
• Awkward co-worker UST  
• Pregnancy fakeout (leading to the Great Reylo Baby Comment Section War, still ongoing)  
• Crazy blind witch healer lady  
• Shipping your romantic rival to the far edge of the galaxy like a Fed-Ex package  
• Quest for Love™  
• Arranged marriage  
• LET'S HAVE A BALL!  
• Hot dudes fist-fighting over the same girl  
• Drunken shenanigans  
• Gruff tattooed brute man and the ice princess in love  
• Drunken girl bonding  
• Forbidden love  
• Tragic secondary love interest backstory  
• Jedi Dead Poet’s Society  
• Dramatic confessions of love  
• Deals with the Devil  
• Body/mind control  
• Obligatory demon possession storyline  
• Obligatory coma storyline  
• Coup d’Hux (in the works)  
• Secret sexy spy captain  
• Couples' fighting with lightsabers  
• Bodice ripping  
• SECRET MARRIAGE  
• Blood rite wedding  
• Consensual Force sleep honeymoon kidnapping  
• Honeymoon on Mustafar (is it not a trope? IT IS NOW!)  
• Force ghosts  
• Anidala parallels  
• I AM DEATH  
• I AM LIFE  
• Tragic abandoned orphan backstory except now she’s EMPRESS OF THE GALAXY

• Sex tropes get their own category:  
o Loss of Virginity  
o Tree sex  
o Wall sex (with additional secret creepy voyeur watching sex scene fake out)  
o Force sex  
o Ben Dom  
o Rey Dom  
o Everyone's a switch!

Perennial favorites:  
• ALL THE SAVING I WILL ALWAYS SAVE YOU YOU STAY ALIVE WHATEVER MAY OCCUR I WILL FIND YOU (a/k/a Last of the Mohicans trope)  
• Contrast feels  
• Bridal carrying all over the place

What have I missed? And what else you got? Hit me up.

ALSO, some of you noticed last chapter I might have slightly hinted that the red room has become a Malsa sex dungeon while our Reylo kids have been honeymooning on beautiful Mustafar. So, um, about that. I kind of tossed it out there without a plan. But I promise I will write a chapter giving y'all the origin story of the epic Malsa hookup. (Just as soon as I figure out how it happened.)

ALSO—shoutouts!! This fic has inspired some amazing works, and also has received some epic shoutouts in other fics, and I just wanted to shine the spotlight on these and give them all the praise they deserve. So here we go, in no particular order:

• [This awesome dark playlist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090673) by NatiaRebmik, which is ambient and gorgeous and basically the reason Chapter 37 exists.  
• [This Must Be The Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417737/chapters/30745554) by Leggies, a beautifully realized AU set in Oregon with Ben as a mysterious woodland hermit hottie and Rey as the unwitting savior who answers his Craiglist ad for help on the farm. I want to live in this fic. And word has it that Elsa and Malaak might make an appearance...  
• [The Housekeeper’s Daughter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14010783/chapters/32264853) & [The North Shore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14126034/chapters/32551368) by strawberrycupcake_huckleberrypie, who does me the honor of letting me beta for her, which basically involves me flailing over her gorgeous, heartfelt modern AUs. This is Reylo fluff for the soul. And there is a Malaak cameo in _The North Shore_ too!  
• [Bloodflower](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13688766/chapters/31441644) by Ernzo, which is delicious Renperor smut sprinkled with feels.  
• [Dinner in Paradise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752717) & [Between a Rock and a Hard Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013777) by shuns, who brings the poetry and the funny and all the Alec and Malaak love in these two fantastically creative spinoff fics. Also Janet Yellen.

And of course, anything else you want to chat about. Basically this is just a big giant THANK YOU to everyone who has been reading this ridiculous fic and making the comments sections a place of wonder and awesomeness. I am constantly humbled and amazed and I can't thank y'all enough. <3

UEM


	40. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y'all, I'm sorry again that it took so long. With real life being what it is and the storylines in this fic becoming more complex, it's safe to assume a weekly posting schedule at this point. On the upside, this chapter surprised me in a really good way. The spacetrash drama just keeps on coming. Hope you enjoy. <3

"Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend  
Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,  
Pondering his voyage"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Alec remembers kissing her. Not her, but her mouth. Her body in his arms. Plagueis taunting then screaming, scratching tracks in the Force like a nexu clawing on a cliff face. He fell. He fell into Alec and there was burning inside and coldness and Rey screaming Alec’s name. At least she knew what he had done.

Plagueis tore him apart and Kylo incinerated what was left. All the Darkness and the torture of the Sith, the pain of accepting his submission, his renewal; it was not like this.

There was pain. There was Rey. There was nothing.

Then there was something else.

He hears words and sees glimpses of color and feels tender touches. He smells flowers. There is a whisper and there is warmth and there is the Light seeping into him, infecting everything, washing all the Darkness away.

He did not ask for this.

There is a name. Over and over again. He did not ask to hear it, to be reminded, to be punished; this is torture now. More torture than ever before.

_Ben—_

He breathes. It is a dry gasping sound. There is something in his mouth, down his throat, and his lungs fight against it. He can breathe, he can breathe, he is trying. He tries to look.

The light is too bright. How he hates it. Too bright and he can see and he can hear her say the name. He can see and he can breathe and did he want to die? There was nothing left but the chance that she could live. Noble, sacrificing fool. Noble sacrifice. Why not sacrifice me? Why am I here? Where am I?

_Ben, can you feel it too?_

No! He wants to scream. He wants to scream so loudly until walls shatter, until his chest does, until his ribs break apart and his lungs can stretch until they explode and his heart can burst. Why don’t they remove it? Remove the tube. Remove the hurt. Remove the Light but leave the Dark.

"Alec, can you hear me?"

A boy’s face looks down. A boy’s voice. Stupid. Young. Who is this? Who are you? He only hears one sound.

_No. No._

Yes, he thinks. I agree. I hear you. Why? What is happening? Won’t you turn off all the lights? Won’t you make it stop?

_I did not mean to create this._

But you did. For you hate me too. Where am I? What is happening?

_Ben, where are you? I need you! Please!_

No!

He is screaming. His eyes are sore. Do they bleed? But they have bled before. There is wetness now. There is pain. There is anger. There is no sound beyond his head.

Pular is above him, holding him. "Alec, calm down. Alec, listen. Alec—"

A large brute throws him aside. Leather skin marked by children’s drawings. Alec glares. Alec smiles.

"Time to sleep, Magess," the large brute says.

A medic appears and a droid. There are arms and hands and mechanical limbs all about him. There is a sound and a warmth and the heat of sleep like a blanket in his blood. Yes, he smiles. He smiles at the stupid brute. It is quiet. It is quite now but for Pular screaming and a bang and a crash and it is quiet, yes. Dumb brute, well done. Dumb brute, you are the Emperor’s gift. You are the Emperor’s friend. Dumb brute, I will remember this. I am tired. Yes.

I am tired.

He sleeps. It is Dark. It is quiet. It is so much better here without a name and a reminder and her stabbing sweet voice echoing inside his head.

* * *

When he opens his eyes again, the light is gone. The ceiling is dark. Grey brick and dull bulbs, a low humming and the drip of water from a leaking pipe or a porous wall or the outside seeping in. He hates the rain. His eyes don’t hurt and he can breathe. There is no tube but there are bands around his arms and legs restraining him. His chest is bare; he feels cool, damp air against his skin, and his lower half is protected only by thin, loose pants. His feet are bare too. He wiggles his toes. He stretches his fingers. He tugs at the restraints half-heartedly and he thinks, this is prison. This is hell.

He feels her breathe beside him.

When he turns his head, he can see her. She is more beautiful than he remembers, than she has ever looked before. Glowing with warmth and sunlight and the promise of fresh rain. No more, he thinks. But she is life. He can still smell the flowers in her hair, although jewels rest there now. A crown. Intricate with woven gold and colored stones. Her dress covers the tan skin he knows with a high collar about her regal neck and long sleeves that stretch to her hands. The fabric is silver lace. Her lips are soft pink. She wears make up, not that she needs it, but she is rendered into a forbidding image. A princess, he thinks. His queen.

If he were unbound, he would lie prostrate at her feet.

But there is another presence in the room, hidden deep within the shadows. Alec cannot see but he can feel it—dark and bestial and struggling at the edge of control. He can sense it within the Force, something unknown, unquantifiable. But he cannot think about that now. Not when she is so near. She shifts in the chair beside him and the rustling of her gown sends a wave of her scent coursing over him. It is arousing and enthralling and more potent than any desire he has ever felt. He wants to beg her to move again.

"My Lady," he says, voice coarse from dehydration and the unknown time it was not used. "How long have I been out for?"

His queen does not respond right away. She is studying him intently. Something unnerves her. It travels down the connection between them and he tries to follow its trail, to look inside and understand—

"Five weeks," she says. Her visage is calm. A door is closed in the Force. The beast prowls the walls.

Alec smiles in hollow mirth. "How time flies. And where am I now?"

"The palace dungeons."

"Of course. What is the crime?"

"Did you do this?" she says. Her face is all lightness but her voice holds none.

"Do what?"

"Must I wrench it out from you?"

You are so glorious in your anger, he thinks. "My Lady, I have been sleeping for over a month. You must fill in the gaps, paint me a pretty picture."

"You must know. You can feel it."

"Yes." His most fervent wish has been granted. The Gods have deigned to answer his prayers. "But what of your bond to the Emperor?"

"It is gone."

In the distance, the beast howls.

Alec wants to smile, genuinely smile at the news, but invisible hands have rendered him immobile. Delicate yet powerful hands, a million tiny hands cast by the Force.

"A consequence of defeating Plagueis," she says, and he sees her sadness and he hates that it exists. She releases him then. "Did you do this? Answer me truthfully for I will know if you lie."

"I prayed for this, but I did not create it."

"You do not pray."

"I prayed for you." He closes his eyes; the feel of her so close is almost too much to bear. There are pieces of him that have been sewn back together, molecules refashioned into something new. He has been reborn. "It was you," he says. "You did this," and as soon as he has said the words, he knows that they are true. He feels her pause, a quick intake of breath that tells him she knows it too.

You healed me, he says, basking in the intimate way he can speak to her solely through the Force.

She will not address him like that, only speaking out loud. "I would not have your blood on my hands," she says.

You saved me, he insists, pulling the silken thread that runs between them, the winding cord that tethers her life to his.

"I did what was necessary."

You care for me, he whispers. Admit it. You could not let me die, not with the possibility of this, of the way we could be. Don’t you see? We have earned this between us. We have made it ourselves. Let me show you. Every kiss. All your laughter. You would want for nothing. I would give you no cause to be sad—

"No," she says. Alec, stop.

But I can’t. You love me, he tells her, touching her spirit in ways he could have scarcely imagined, skimming across glassy surfaces and plundering hidden depths. He wants to taste her soul; he wants to memorize every part. A lifetime would never be enough to learn the feel of her. You are a part of me. See how we belong together?

No. Her voice in his head like a siren’s call. The Force writhing and pulling. He cannot tell where he ends and she begins, even as she recoils. "No!"

The beast snarls and it roars. Alec’s airway constricts; a dark weight presses over him and his body goes cold, a giant taloned paw pinning him down. A new power; something never felt before, something he never knew existed. The life is being drained out of him. The silken cord begins to tear.

"Ben! Ben, stop it!"

The black recedes. The thread of his life grows stronger. Alec exhales with a breathless laugh. "Still you are leashed to him."

"You do not know what love is," she says. She lays a hand across his brow and his eyes flutter closed, he wants to purr at the warmth, of what he feels in their connection. "Look at me." He does, and she lets him see the world through her eyes now. She lets him see what she sees.

A blond man, pale and gaunt. He has lost mass. He has lost his mind. Hair ragged and an unkempt beard and pleading eyes, eyes so desperate. Eyes of the clearest and glassiest blue.

"What have you done?" he says.

"I only wanted to heal you. To save you from the poison you had taken." Rey pulls back her hand. "I do not regret it, even after what you have taken from me."

"Rey…" He never got a chance to explain. There are secrets he must confess, penance he must attain. "Rey, you must forgive me. I never meant—"

"It is past." Her voice has turned to ice now. He searches their bond, searches for her warmth and finds winter. He shivers; he cannot help it. "It is all in the past." She stands now, a goddess in silver lace and a golden crown and he could look at her forever, he could spend eternity gazing at her form but there is a vacancy in her eyes, as if she is willing herself not to see him. "You are alive as you should be, but I do not forgive you. You are…" and it is here she pauses, as if the words cost her something, "you are no friend to me."

"Rey…"

"You will listen," she says. The beast growls once more in the distance; Alec cannot be bothered to notice. There is nothing more important than she who stands before him. Her eyes are filled with sadness again and he can feel it. He can feel the hurt, the anger. The Sith part of him wants her to use it, but a deeper part knows that he is the cause. He has wounded that which he sought to protect. The beast is prowling, but there is another sound, a roaring from inside of him—it is Alec who is destabilizing; he is losing control.

"Rey—"

"There will be no more words!" She silences him once more with her own use of the Force. The hands are no longer gentle. "You will not see me. You will never feel my presence again. Henceforth you are banished from this Empire."

His anger surges. "You cannot deny what it between us!"

"I will cut myself off. You will never feel me again." To give her words credence, she does so—he does not know how, but she can—and the emptiness feels as though his soul has been bisected.

"You cannot do this! Rey! REY!" His voice is more animal than human now. He fights against the restraints.

She walks to a door. "It is already done. There is a ship bound for the Unknown Regions. At dawn, you will be on it. Should you try and return, your life will be forfeit." At last she shows teeth, a cunning smile. "I cannot promise what my husband will do."

The beast takes form now; it takes human shape. A deathly shadow, tall and in black and with a pale face, scarred and painted with murder. My brother. My enemy. The man he hates more than any other in the galaxy. His true love’s words echo inside his head.

_My husband._

The beast takes her arm now. A large hand is at her back. Alec watches as the door closes behind them.

When he screams this time, there is no one left to hear.

* * *

In the corridor, outside the cell, Rey leans against a wall. She is breathing too quickly. The Force is fighting inside her. It has cost her too much but she did not do enough. A part of her wanted to kill him and it took all she had not to fall into the Dark.

"My love."

Her husband is beside her. His hands cup her face. "Are you okay? How are they holding up?"

Her defenses is what he means. Upon arriving in Coruscant they had trained for a week just to get to this point. Ben wouldn't let her near Alec without making sure she could close herself off, and Rey has known for a long time that there is no better teacher than her husband. They had worked tirelessly until she could remove herself from everything, until she could build a wall around her mind that even he could not breach. Even so, Ben had kept Alec sedated the entire time. Comatose again, but this time with purpose. So long as he remained unconscious, Rey could not feel him in their bond.

"I will be," she tells him.

"You are a warrior." He kisses her forehead. "You were amazing."

She closes her eyes and he holds her. They stay for several moments that way until she is calm, until she is strong, until she is ready to be seen by the eyes of the palace. He offers her his arm once more and she takes it, the wife to the Emperor. The reluctant Empress. It has been a week and everyone knows of their union now. She is his consort, his queen. The uproar was tremendous, but they have barely had time to notice. She has barely had time to process, it has all happened so fast.

They move through the corridors to the entrance of the dungeons. Guards are gathered and there is a commotion. Rey can see the broad form of Malaak trying to hold something or somebody back. But his huge body is thrown. A pale figure charges forward. Her saber is at her waist and she will protect her love. It is her duty that the queen defend the king (that a wife risk her life for her husband.) But the figure is not decrying the Emperor’s name. Only her.

"I will end you!" the one they call Pular shouts.

Such hatred. How he hates her. It was all something she did. If she had not been so naïve, so stupid, so willing to care and to save everything. Her guilt has her frozen. She has earned this. She can feel it as the Force is dragged out of her. Her saber hesitates, then lowers, as the enraged knight brings his own blade down towards her.

"Rey!"

Pular is frozen in mid air. Rey meets his hateful eyes, glaring at her, hissing venom in his gaze, struggling against the impossible grip that has him held before her. And then her husband’s hand reaches out and takes the boy by the neck and throws his body to the ground.

It is not the Force that overpowers Pular now. Ben’s boot crushes his wrist and kicks his saber to the side. In his rage he has him pinned, is bringing his great fist down and down again, reducing that pale delicate face to bruises and blood. The boy is yelling. "I will kill you! I will kill you all!" Then he is only spitting, only gurgling; he is unconscious, but her husband’s assault shows no sign it is going to stop.

"Please!" Rey is pulling him back, using the Force to prevent his fist from delivering a final blow. "Please, Ben! You will kill him!"

He snarls back at her. Spit flies from his mouth and his eyes are wild and savage. He lets go. He drops the unmoving body to the floor. "He would have you killed and you would spare him." He stalks past her and Rey can only watch as the guards move forward to surround them both. Malaak is recovered. He waits for the Emperor’s orders. "Put him in a cell," Ben says.

Malaak obliges. The boy is unceremoniously picked up and thrown over his shoulder. Rey places a hand on the dutiful knight’s arm as he passes. "Ensure that he receives medical attention," she says. Malaak gives a gruff nod and Rey chases after her husband's retreating form.

"Ben, wait."

"I am sorry," he says. He holds out a hand. "I am sorry."

It is unclear what he is apologizing for. Where to begin? What has happened? Rey is tired. She might be in shock. She does not know. She only takes his hand and they return to their quarters, the Emperor and the Empress, more disheveled and somehow reduced now but together. Yes, together, she reminds herself. They will never be alone.

* * *

"Why did you freeze?" Ben says. Rey is curled up against him in the safety of their bed. They have not talked much since the earlier events, only seeing to the physical needs of the other. Words were not ready yet, but he has found them now. He has so many. Why did she risk her life? How could she not fight? "Rey," he prods her, "you must tell me."

She is awake, but she is thinking. She is shy and cannot look at him like this. "I thought maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

"That I deserved it." His body stirs, and he holds her tighter; he drags her up face him. "Ben, please, just hear me out." She places her hand on his lips as he stares at her. "I have caused all this. I have caused so much damage. To you and all the knights. You were brothers and I have divided you."

"No." He kisses her fingers. "No. This was me. I should have seen this coming. I should have known. I have lead them down a path that promised Darkness, only to take another. To follow you. And they cannot forgive me. I have betrayed what they know, what I told them—or what they chose to hear."

"I’m sorry," she says.

"I am." He holds her to him. "But you must promise me, never freeze, always fight. Always defend yourself against all who threaten you, I do not care who they may be."

"Or you will kill them?" she says.

"I would kill them all."

"I know. I know how to defend myself but I had never seen… I did not know somebody could hate like this."

"Hate is the friend of love. They go together, hand in hand. Do not be surprised."

"Pular loves Alec."

"Yes."

"You have always known?"

"Since we were boys."

"Why must it be so destructive?"

"Foolish Jedi." She strikes his arm and he smiles. "It is passion. All feeling. Love and hate. Every emotion except the ones that promote repression and false peace."

"Peace is not a lie," she says, and she lays her head against his heart. "I have found it with you."

And I with you, he thinks. The realization is a death knell to a lifetime’s wisdom from the Sith.

"What of the other knights?" she says.

"I will seek out their loyalty."

"I am sorry." You must stop saying that, he thinks. "I should’ve told you sooner." She wraps her whole body tight around him. "Pular hates me."

"You knew?"

"When I was healing Alec. He threatened me at first. But when he saw I was making Alec better, he would let me be. He tolerated me and I thought… you are right. I am foolish."

"You are not." He forces her to look at him. "But you must tell me. If anyone threatens you again. If anyone so much as looks at you in a way you do not like—"

"What? You’ll kill them all?" Her smile is playful, but there is no teasing in her eyes.

"I would not hesitate." His large hands hold her precious face between them. "You are my wife. We may not have a bond through the Force but what is between us is even stronger. You must promise me," he kisses her and breathes his words inside parted mouth, "there must be no secrets between us."

There are no secrets left. How she knows him now. How he knows how to please her. He pleases her until she sleeps and he sleeps as well. There are dreams and they are memories of Mustafar, of her arm and blood and life bound to his, repeated with a mantra, with the Force blessing them. Of her fighting him. Of her defending him to his mother. The memories spin further back. Their first kiss beneath the rain. Her asleep in his arms. Her body naked and still dripping wet before a bathtub. Scarring him. Standing frozen amongst a forest.

What before? There was an awakening. The Force seeking balance. It is Dark. He seeks the Darkness. He seeks Rey. His wife. But she is running from him. Like before but he cannot catch her. She is so far away, growing smaller, the Light narrowing down to only a pinprick point. She is lost. She is lost to him. He is alone in his Darkness and he screams for her. He cries her name and there is nothing. There is falling and there is heat and there is smoke and there is sand in a desert. Suns that shine too bright. His wife is lost to him. She won’t respond to her name, to his voice. She stands in black before him, terrifying and beautiful and with a saberstaff glowing red and eyes of glowing yellow. He is on his knees. He is begging for forgiveness, for recognition, for love. Rey, can’t you see me?

The saber points to his heart. "Who is that?"

"He lives in dreams," another voice says. A man steps forward. Handsome and blond and with his arms around her, claiming her, touching her. Lips press to her neck. "What are you waiting for, my love?"

She smiles. She laughs. There is a burning in his chest, through his heart, and he is lost forever, forgotten, unloved.

He has failed her.

Ben wakes with her name on his lips. He is gasping. She wakes beside him. "What is it? "

He must get away. "I can’t sleep," he says and there is no lie. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheek and tells her to go back to sleep, he will work, he will leave and grant her peace. She smiles in unerring trust and closes her eyes as he runs.

He is dressed now. He is stalking the palace. There can be no secrets, but neither can there be any threat to his love.

There is nothing more important than this.

* * *

His brother sleeps without movement, lost to an abyss without dreams. There are no restraints upon him now.

The med droid whirrs to life and it does Ben's bidding, punching buttons on a large grid, checking oxygen tubes and IV lines and rolling backwards to take out a small vial of clear liquid and a syringe. Ben watches as the droid injects it into a line that is hooked into his former Confessor's arm, feeling through the Force as the drug takes effect and his brother awakens, feeling the shock and fury that sweeps through him when the pupils manage to focus and Ben's face can clearly be seen.

Alex does not waste time. "I wondered when you would be back," he says, his voice significantly stronger than it was before.

"I have not come to kill you," Ben says.

"But you want to."

"I have always wanted to."

"Liar," Alex says. "You are stealing my lines."

Was there ever any love between us? Ben thinks. Or was it mere camaraderie? Rivals united against a common enemy. Now the enemy is gone, but the threat remains.

"You were always grasping," Ben tells him.

"And you were always the ungrateful fuck who had worlds at his feet."

"Is that why you hated me?"

Alec shrugs. "Hate. Love. There is no difference."

"Even with respect to my wife?"

"Your wife." Alec sneers at the word. "And just how did you trick her into that?"

"You understand nothing. You never did."

"I understand this. I understand her."

"You will not speak of her."

"And yet we get to the heart of the matter. You cannot kill me," Alec says.

Ben pauses, a lifetime it seems. "No," he says.

"If you harm me, you harm her."

"Yes."

"If you kill me, her soul would never recover."

"No."

"So why are you here?"

Ben does not respond.

Alec closes his eyes. He begins to laugh, just a slight fall and rise of his chest, noiseless and bitter. He smiles. "Of course. There is no ship. There never was."

"Am I so transparent?"

"You were always transparent. Add the sickness of love and you're as clear as crystalline."

"Then you know."

"I would have you say it."

Ben does. "You will not leave this place. I have instructed Malaak make a chamber. Inside will be a med droid and a maintenance droid, and century's worth of supplies. It will be sealed."

"Entombed while living, is that the idea?"

"You will never wake again. You will be kept safe and perfectly intact. Long years from now, when she dies, the droid will cease its operation."

"And I will die as well."

"By then, you cannot harm her."

Alec studies him, a damning combination of admiration and pity. "I should give you more credit. I thought that love had softened you, but that is not the case. You are more a monster now than ever."

Bens stands and turns to go.

"And what of our brothers?" Alec asks. "Will they meet the same fate?"

"Let us hope they have more wisdom."

Ben feels the anger now, the unbridled fury. "You son of a bitch. You promise freedom and give us slavery. You will be cursed for this."

"I am already cursed."

"Not yet. Not enough. Whatever fear you are running from, it shall come down upon you a hundredfold. Does she know?" Ben's silence is answer enough. Alec laughs with true amusement. "Then you will lose her too. You hold too tightly, brother. You always have."

"You waste your last waking moments on a threat?"

"A prophecy. May you never know peace so long as I live. And you cannot let me die. A poetic twist, don't you think?"

In a heartbeat, Ben is by his side, hands wrapped around Alec's throat and squeezing. Alec smiles.

"Harm me and—you harm her—" he chokes out. Ben releases his grip; he hovers above him, panting, while Alec gasps for air. They stare into each other's eyes, ice boring into coal. There is nothing between them but hate.

Ben sees movement in his periphery. He watches Alec's fingers clench and unclench, testing the sensation, remembering the mind's mastery of the body, and for a moment Ben is transfixed, watching his brother raise his hands, readying himself for attack only to feel fingertips touch his face. There is no murderous intent, just a caress. Traitorous hands now cradle his jaw. They pull him down and Ben lets them.

Slowly, as if the memory is unfolding in a different lifetime, Alec presses his lips to his. The kiss is a lover's, full of secrets and lust, of dark promises and violent ends. When Alec releases him, there is victory in his smile.

"You will never be rid of me, brother," he says. "I will always be your curse."

The machines short out; a crack rips through the stone walls. There is the sound of bone crunching; of leather striking flesh and blood spraying onto pristine white sheets. Even unconscious and lost to a Force sleep, the smile is not wiped from Alec's face.


	41. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm still alive!! But sadly we are pretty much on a weekly posting schedule at this point. The good news is that there are lots of familiar faces and plotty plot stuff happening now so I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Also, just a heads up—it's not exactly dubcon in this chapter but fair warning on some skeevy sexual situations for the MC (all in the name of espionage). If that's not your bag then no worries, I just might skip this installment. <3

"That practis’d falsehood under saintly shew,  
Deep malice to conceal, couch’d with revenge."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

"More coffee?"

Elsa sits in an observation deck high above the imperial shipyards of Coruscant. The view is surreal; from here, she can watch the great behemoths take off and enter the planet's atmosphere. Her companion seems quite taken with them but to her they are caskets of death. She has seen them obliterate entire systems, bringing oppression and bloodshed like holocron greetings wherever they go. She does not tell her companion that she witnessed a massacre in Thrush while still a small child, that she saw her father cower before the old Emperor's Governor Tarkin, that she saw the smoke from the burning of the sacred temple on Gatalenta.

Do you know how many lives you touch with death? she thinks. How many who thirst for your blood? It is this thought that cheers her, that she should be so lucky, and so she raises the fine dram porcelain cup, proffering it, along with her most beautiful smile.  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
Her companion smiles back; a bit dazed, as if something large has struck his head, and this widens Elsa's smile. She drinks the coffee (not caf, he informs her, and then proceeds to lecture her on the exact origin and roasting of the fragrant dark beans). She listens with feigned interest, never letting on that her family owns hectares of farms that produce vine-coffee, that this tepid offering was harvested too early and roasted too long and has the bitter aftertaste of burned chocolate. She does not tell him he is an idiot and a fop and got swindled over a handful of literal beans; she merely flutters her lashes. Leia explained long ago that politics was more about seeing what other people would freely give you than trying to take by force and Elsa thinks she must be right, for that is what has led her here. Wedded firmly to this idea is the gift of letting others speak, in the promise of what they will share.  
  
It is what she thinks of, as she sips the inferior brew and leans her forearms against the table, taking a deep breath that allows her breasts to press against the edge of her gown in a way that commands her companion's attention. When he is rendered suitably mute, she redirects.  
  
"Will you miss it?" she says. "The Fleet, I mean. When it is gone."  
  
Her companion sits up straighter. "Gone? It will never really be gone."  
  
"With the draw-down, I mean. And the new imperial police force. Surely there won't be a need for the military anymore."  
  
His complexion turns sallow, as if his mouth has suddenly been filled by a particularly bad taste. "There will always be a need for the military," he says. "Just because we are reduced does not mean we are obsolete."  
  
Tell me more, she thinks, but he offers nothing. A surprising display of self-control. "I… I am sorry," she stammers, making the words sound melodic. "All my life I have only heard one side. Forgive me if I do not understand."  
  
His face softens at this, and he looks at her as almost a man in love. "It is not your fault, Highness. And now that the Resistance and the First Order have been forced into such… close proximity, it is my hope that we can achieve great understanding between us." He stands as he says this and walks over to her side of the table. He takes her hand and bows elegantly at the waist. Here it comes, she thinks, and steels herself for what she has been trained for. She wills her blood to slow, her mind to remain peaceful when it is anything but. She is screaming to run but she won't; she will not stop this charade until she has what she wants.  
  
His lips hovers near hers for a moment before he leans down to kiss the back of her hand. "Shall I escort you back to the palace?"  
  
She wants to scream in frustration and cry with relief.  
  
They make the quick trip in his private shuttle, with the chaperonage of two lieutenants who act more the part of servants. There is no more chance for talk or otherwise as he leads her back to her chambers. That is until he stops outside the double doors and hesitates to press the panel that opens them.  
  
"Thank you," she says, the sound demure and somewhat flirty, though mostly a consequence of scraping for self control. "I had a lovely time."  
  
"And I too. Shall we meet again? Tomorrow perhaps, or is that too—?"  
  
"Where?" She cannot hide her eagerness, but thankfully he mistakes its motivation.  
  
"Where would you like?"  
  
She gazes up at him, using a trick of the light and her posture to make her seem smaller than she is, to exaggerate the narrow height advantage he has over her, to make him feel powerful and in control. She parts her mouth and watches him follow the movement, sinks her teeth into the plump flesh of her lower lip. Faintly, ever so faintly, she invades his personal space.  
  
"You have seen where I live," she says, "but I cannot say the same."  
  
His reply is a whisper, but she feels the hot air against her lips. "Is that what you want, Princess?"  
  
She answers with a deliberate breath. "Yes."  
  
He leans forward. He places his mouth on hers with bruising force. Elsa steps back on instinct but his arms come about her and she is trapped. Remember your training! she screams at herself; she must pretend to enjoy this. The sound of footsteps is her salvation. It is a Commander, the one they call Mitaka.  
  
"General—I am sorry to interrupt but you are needed."  
  
Armitage Hux pulls back and strokes a hand along her face. "Forgive me, your Highness. Tomorrow night it is then."  
  
She barely has the presence of mind to nod before he leaves.

* * *

"My Lord?"

Malaak enters the throne room, engulfed by bright light emanating from within the crystal walls and floor. It takes his eyes several moments to adjust. When they do, he can see the dais holding the Emperor; the whole throne crackles, steeped in black. The blackness seems its darkest, if black could find new depths to sink to. The Emperor is barely visible save for his pale face and the movement of his hands. Clenched fists unfurl and he beckons for Malaak to move forward.

At the base of the throne, Ersn and Vadanav kneel. Malaak joins them. Red flickers beneath his feet, the reassuring glow of his loyalty. The colors are less settled around the other two. There is much to discuss. There are decisions to be made.

"Brothers," the Emperor says, "two of our number have betrayed us."

"Who?" Ersn’s voice licks with challenge. There is silver and yellow and purple at his toes.

"You think there are traitors in this room?" The Emperor rises. "Then read my thoughts. You can decide for yourself."

Ersn looks to Vadanav. There is hesitation in his gaze, the awareness of a trap.

"There is no need," Vadanav says. "You have married a Jedi. The facts speak for themselves."

Malaak expects Kylo to react with a Force choke. To emit lightning. To squeeze out the rebel knight’s final breath from his lungs for such insubordination. Kylo only smiles.

"My wife is no Jedi. She is strong in the Force." He casually lifts a hand and drags both Vadanav and Ersn to standing. "As strong as I am." He descends the steps of the throne and stops before them. "In many ways, she is stronger."

"And what of our brothers?" Malaak keeps his head bowed but he hears Ersn hiss the words.

"Magess is in exile. He threatened the Empress’s life and my own. It is only through her benevolence that he lives. As for Pular, his fate is undecided."

"My Lord," Malaak speaks. "My Lord, Ersn and Vadanav have done nothing wrong."

The Force constricts around him and he is made to stand as well. The red shimmers, uncertain. Blues and gold and hints of green. Malaak falters. "My Lord, I am—"

"You speak out of turn." Malaak cannot speak at all; Kylo is looking at Ersn. "You must read my mind, brother, for I cannot so easily read yours." Kylo splays his fingers and offers his palm; Ersn’s eyes stretch wide and he screams.

Vadanav struggles in the Force grip, eyes bulging as well and unable to scream for his brother, to defend his lover. Malaak is silent and afraid.

"What do you see?" Kylo says.

His hand snaps into a fist. Ersn drops to the ground. He spits blood onto the crystal. There are patches of red fighting amongst the yellow beneath his hands and knees. He is breathing hard. He glares up at Kylo.

"You sacrifice our dream for a doomed and foolish love."

"And you would sacrifice yourself for the promise of nothing?"

"No. Our dream is dead."

"That being the case, do you kneel or do you go?"

Vadanav and Malaak are also released. Ersn pulls himself up to stand beside them.

"Your choices have not changed," Kylo says. "We are free to shape the galaxy but not by the blade or by the obsolete tenets of the Sith. You have been loyal. You are still my brothers. But there can be no black and white now, no simple Dark and Light. Choose to work beside me, to work beside my wife, and make a fate that is yours and yours alone."

"Your choice is false," Vadanav says. "You shackle me, but I accept this fate." He kneels.

Ersn does as well. "If you have taught me anything, _brother_ , it is a brutal kind of pragmatism."

"And what of you, Malaak?" Kylo says. "What do you choose?"

Malaak looks at his fellow knights. The colors swirl across the floor. He cannot make them all out. Kylo ascends to his throne and back into endless shadow.

"Leave us," Kylo says. Ersn and Vadanav both go, Malaak feeling the scrape of curious fingers across his brain as Ersn wordlessly passes. The single door slides shut and disappears amongst the wall of crystal. "Speak now. You have the floor."

"You have lost their trust," Malaak says, glancing to the invisible place his brothers just left through.

"I know." Kylo sighs. He sounds tired and sad. "I have led you all astray and I cannot make this right."

"We were children. What did we know?"

"Do we know any better now?"

"That is wisdom, I think. To accept how much is unknown. To see one’s limitations."

"Then maybe you are the wisest."

"No, brother." Malaak kneels. "I am your servant." All is red once more. "The plans are ready for tonight."

"I will be dining with the Empress but you will inform me when it is done."

"You will know."

"Thank you, Malaak," Kylo says. "You may rise and you may always speak freely in my presence. I am sorry for that show."

"Do not apologize—"

"But I must." Kylo stands and they leave the throne room together. "Perhaps I will one day learn to be as wise as you."

* * *

"Wow, is this for real?"

Elsa watches the girl turn in a slow circle, taking in what has become the Resistance’s quarters. She is short and dark-haired with a wide and friendly face. From an overly grand sofa, Leia shrugs. "The old Emperor’s tastes were ostentatious but that does not make them good."

"We’ve been living on a two-person transport I’m pretty sure was built during the Old Republic," the girl says. "I’ve forgotten what ostentatious looks like."

"You used to hate ostentatious," her companion says.

"Well, yeah, but after this long?" Her eyes stop as they light on Elsa. "Oh my Gods." The woman looks dumbstruck, and Elsa knows what’s about to happen next. "You’re beautiful," she blurts out. "I mean holy kriff—holy mother of all kriff, how do people even—?"

Her companion steps forward and offers a charming smile. "You’ll have to excuse Rose," he says. "She has trouble with words." He holds out a hand. "I’m Finn."

"It’s damn near impossible to remember who knows who. This is Princess Isolde—" Leia begins.

"Elsa," Elsa corrects, holding out a hand to Finn and then to Rose. "It’s nice to meet you." Rose’s grip is especially warm.

"I’m sorry about that," she says. "Even on my best days I have no filter. You must get that all the time." Elsa shrugs to laugh it off, but something in Rose’s posture shifts. She takes both of Elsa’s hands in hers. "Of course." Her voice is quiet now, her eyes searching. "How could I not see? It’s a weight around your neck. Like that pendant you wear."

Elsa goes still. She has never mentioned the significance of Amilyn’s necklace to anyone, not even Leia. "How…?" Elsa feels lost. "How did you…?"

"We’ve been spending too much time around Force-users," Finn explains. He gently pries Rose’s hands from Elsa’s, and Elsa feels sad at the loss of contact, as if a bit of light has gone with her; it is a most peculiar feeling. Finn and Rose smile at each other, something intimate and familiar, the way they can communicate with so few words. Smiles fade and their expressions turn serious as they both look to Leia.

"So, it’s true?" Finn says.

"All of it," Leia responds.

The couple sit down. Elsa moves to a corner and stands beside Poe, who only watches with arms folded. He does not speak much since negotiations ended, as if he is lost without a cause to fight. He does not acknowledge her now.

A buzzer sounds and the doors to the reception room slide open. A servant enters and announces, "All rise for the Empress."

All the occupants of the room, all who are left of the Resistance, do as they are told, even Leia. Four tall Imperial guards follow after and then separate into pairs. They reveal a young woman. She is dressed like a queen, from her ornate crown to her cream and gold gown and the long fur cloak that hangs from her shoulders and trails along the floor behind her. She looks around with a seeming impassive countenance then her eyes land upon the couple who have only recently arrived.

She is a girl again when she smiles. "Finn!"

The couple glance to each other, uncertain, but the Empress is charging forward, gesturing for the Imperial Guard to stand down. She hugs Finn, her friend, and he raises his arms, tentatively wrapping them around her. The Empress draws back. "What is it?" she says.

"A lot has changed, Rey."

"I know. It’s just… I missed you."

Finn pulls her back into his arms. "I missed you, too."

When they part, Rey turns to the smaller girl and takes both her hands. "You too, Rose. It’s so good to see you again." She hugs her just as tight. "Thank you for coming. For keeping each other safe."

When the reunion is over, Rey turns to the rest of the room. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Finn and Rose alone."

Leia nods. "As you wish." She and the remaining Resistance head towards their rooms and Elsa towards the exit.

"You as well," Rey says to the Imperial Guard and Elsa finds herself with an unexpected escort as she returns to her chambers in preparation for her date.

The doors close and she stands in the darkness, not ready for lights to reveal all the grotesque red and illuminate her thoughts and remind her of what she must do. She almost sinks down. She feels weakened. She is not ready for what lies ahead.

A buzzer sounds, and she lets the doors reopen.

"Poe."

"A word," he says and lets himself in.

Elsa still does not put the lights on. Poe paces around. There is the faint hint of sun through small gaps in the thick drapes but this world is mostly gray now. Elsa thinks Poe turns to face her.

"What is your game?" he says.

"Excuse me?"

"Your game. What are you playing?" He is closer now and Elsa has the doors behind her, a means of escape.

"I don’t play," she says.

"Is it not for fun? Do you like him?"

"Who?" Her heart panics. So many secrets and lies and there is the one she holds dearest, that she will not let escape. She will kill Poe where he stands before it can.

"Hux," he says with hatred and disgust. "I have eyes and ears. You were seen with him. More than once. So tell me, what’s your game?"

Elsa smiles. "Are you jealous?"

He falters at this. She can see it in the flash of whiteness from his widening eyes. "This is about the Resistance. About protecting peace and what we’ve fought for."

"And you think I’m not loyal? Just like the Empress?"

Poe says nothing.

"That is treason," she continues. "To sully her name. Perhaps mine is no longer worth so much but my cousin would not take kindly to one who would accuse her—"

"You should not threaten me."

"But I do." She moves towards him and Poe backs away. "You know nothing of my motives. Of my loyalty. Of where my heart lies." She is near enough to stroke his face, their eyes level, though she knows she is taller. "You miss the simplicity of a ship to fly and a button to press and a missile that fires and blows everything away. You don’t know how to chip away slowly. To make enemies friends until they are close." Her lips ghost his ear and she feels his heart quicken as hers did before. Still he desires her. She could take him now, she knows, but she won’t; not in this way.

"Isolde," Poe says.

"Call me Elsa." She draws her fingers along her neckline and dips them inside. His hands find her hips; she can feel the shallow breaths enter and leave his chest. She removes a small dagger and holds it to his neck. "Close enough that they don’t see the blade until it is too late."

He shoves her away. "You’re in over your head, Princess."

Her grip on the knife tightens. "Get out," she tells him. "I’ve got plans with someone else."

* * *

All plans begin with an idea, with an aim. Elsa began her mission inside a closet analysing inventory records belonging to the First Order. She is a stickler for detail, pays attention to the finest print, does not like it when things do not match or add up. And this was no small discrepancy but a huge amount of hardware and equipment and no clear account of where it had gone.

This is not a drawdown, she has realized. This is a plot. A military coup.

Only one other is aware of her suspicions. The proof is not concrete. There are others more powerful than she who could brush her concerns away, who could undermine and diminish her position. So she reduces herself to what they expect, what she has been taught, what she is made for.

A princess is a whore of highborn blood after all, sold for titles and kingdoms instead of a few paltry credits. She has spent most of her life having her worth defined in material terms. She will sell herself to the right bidder. She will earn his trust.

Her confidante respects her decision, even if he does not agree. He is a loyal friend, her only friend, the only person she trusts. He knows her secrets, her stories. The fact she has had many lovers, all women, some who nearly stole her heart even though the rest of her body had its designation, to be a chosen bride.

No more. Not again. Now she knows and she chooses. Now she only lives for revenge.

The drug is slow to take effect. Maz promised something quick but is not always the most reliable. Something to help with insomnia, Elsa explained, and the ancient pirate nodded knowingly and said, "This will instill the sleep of the dead."

It takes a three-course dinner and too much wine and drunken fumbling, Elsa down to her underthings and Hux’s pale hands exploring, his cold wet mouth touching her own and her neck and the tops of her breasts. He does not elicit any pleasure. He does not explore the places that would. He rolls her beneath him and grows heavy, his member limp. He mumbles and he snores. She struggles to roll him away. She removes all his clothes and tucks him in naked, scratching his chest to imply there has been something close to lovemaking.

That done, Elsa gets to work.

* * *

Malaak walks to the headquarters of the First Order under cover of darkness. His body is cloaked too, in a long brown cape that better befits a monk; his presence is cloaked in the Force. He passes a squadron of stormtroopers and the guards at the entrance without garnering a second glance.

He has somewhere else he must be, but he cannot leave before this task is complete. He reaches the inner sanctum of the security block and applies a Force sleep to the lieutenant at the front desk with a wave of his hand. Through two sets of doors and down a seemingly disused hallway lies the building's surveillance center. A pair of upper level officers are seated before a bank of data screens; the feeds of over a hundred security cameras all coalesce is this one place. The officers stand as Malaak enters, one of them reaching for a blaster, but both are suddenly frozen, Malaak holding them still with a barely raised hand.

"When you wake, you will erase the feed from camera 1708. You will not remember me, and you will not remember this conversation."

Another wave of the Force, and their unconscious bodies fall back into their chairs. Malaak stares for a moment at camera 1708, then turns and leaves. He walks with slow steps back to the main palace and through spiralling corridors until he reaches the throne room. It is empty upon his arrival, occupied only by a med droid busy setting up a wall of IV stands.

There was a time when Malaak wanted Magess’s blood above all others, when he had stolen something precious and left something broken in its place. There is still that urge to take but mostly there is a sadness tonight. Malaak saw it in the faces of his brothers this morning, in the face of his Emperor. What has been fractured will never be whole again, will never be made right. And this must be done, Malaak knows, but the burden feels too great.

The supplies have all been loaded and now the medical capsule comes, hovering over the surface of the crystal floor. Even unconscious, Alec glows green. Endless jealousy. Endless thirst. He is too dangerous to let live, Malaak thinks, and yet he cannot be allowed to die.

Malaak seals the entrance himself. No other will ever enter this room again. A single comm link connects the med droid to his personal communicator.

Goodnight, my brother, Malaak says to no one.

Goodbye.

* * *

Elsa returns to her rooms, stumbles in, seeing nothing but gray. She leans back against the doors because her legs threaten to fail her. Her skin is crawling. She feels covered in dirt. She claws at the neckline of her gown until it rips, until the silks and lace shred and she is left in nothing but her underthings. But Hux touched them as well.

She fumbles at her corset, at the hidden space between her breasts until she can pull out the dagger. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and spits out his taste. She cuts the corset from her body. She is shaking; she wants blood. She wants to flay the flesh off her bones and pretend it is someone else, that is wasn't her, it wasn't—  
  
"Elsa."  
  
A silhouette looms at the entrance to her bedroom. Great and hulking, it gives off the same predatory energy that Hux did before he passed out.  
  
Without thinking, she charges.  
  
She raises her blade as if to strike and is easily parried by the solid bulk of a mighty forearm. A large paw of a hand catches her about the waist and she fights, thrashing against her captor, kicking and biting and making noises more worthy of an animal. She wants blood desperately, she craves it, she cannot be denied forever. She wants revenge. She wants to cry and scream and hurt herself and kill the one who kissed her and touched her and made the whole galaxy suffer. She is wild, she feels broken. She raises her dagger to strike but the beast holds her wrist, gripping it tightly between them.  
  
"Elsa—" the word is both a plea and warning. She does not heed it. She sinks her teeth into the meat of his shoulder, searching for a taste of red liquid richer than wine. She will drink his iron; she is so thirsty tonight.  
  
"Elsa!"  
  
She is carried inside her bedroom and thrown onto the bed. He is a giant on top of her, his weight crushing, the rough texture of his torso pressing her deep into the mattress. A thigh the size of a tree trunk spreads her legs apart, rubbing against her very center and her rage spikes, she is desperate to attack. Her hand now free, she holds the knife to this predator’s throat.

"Take my blood if you need it," the beast says with a sigh. She strokes the blade against the slope of his shoulder, where her teethmarks shine; it is soothing, like the motion a mother would use to comfort a child. Soon she can see ridges and small rivulets running down. She licks them and he hisses. She draws the blade across his chest with similar gentleness and the rivulets run there too. Her bare breasts are splattered with it, the space between her legs soaked for an entirely different reason, wet finally, the friction right.  
  
"That's it," her giant murmurs. "Take what you need. Take your blood." His words are a balm, potent as a healing elixir. They promise beautiful things.

He presses his forehead to her shoulder. There is a sluggishness to his movements, a gravity she cannot place. She drops the blade and holds him, her palm cupping the smooth surface of his scalp. She does not feel with the Force but she knows there is something that burdens him. They are both creatures of secrets, she thinks. They have become something other than what they were meant to be.  
  
"Let me kill him," he whispers, a rush of air against her skin. She can sense how much he wants this, how his thirst for violence matches her own. How he needs this, needs something. She takes his face between her hands.

"No," she tells him as he looks down at her. "No." Hux belongs to her and he knows this. But underneath it all, Elsa belongs to him. "Take me," she says and kisses him. "Take me instead."

He does. A real kiss this time, not the clumsy goodnight effort on her threshold after a midnight wedding, not the fraught and nervous touches snatched in the darkness of a closet, nor the apologies and excuses that came the last time they lay upon this bed; no more shy looks and longing desires that neither of them will utter. The time for denial is past.

He kisses her with ravenous hunger and she devours him, his paws tearing her underwear and her claws removing his pants. They want nothing less than all the other has and they will have it. They will give and take all they want. In the morning they can go back to what they were, can go back to everything as it was before, but tonight she is a beast just like him and they will feast and fuck and draw blood until first light.


	42. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Beloved friends and readers… I made it. I am so mortified at the delay on this one, I can only hope it was worth the wait. This chapter keeps our plotty plot moving but it also relives the day explored in the last chapter from some different (and very important) points of view. Plus Hux being awful. Plus Rose being amazing. And some (hopefully) Hitchcockian realness.

"Who overcomes  
By force, hath overcome but half his foe."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

"General—I am sorry to interrupt but you are needed."

The princess trembles, delicate as a butterfly in his hands. He can remember lonely days as a child collecting a jar of insects, some dark and ugly, others intricate and beautiful; slowly they died asphyxiating in the glass, but others perished more cruelly. It was easy to pull off a twitching limb, to break a wing, to crush the body between gleeful fingers and let the gelatinous yellow innards pour out. Hux holds the princess now and strokes her face.

"Forgive me, your Highness," he says. "Tomorrow night it is then."

She nods mutely. There is another jar to prepare, another creature to add to his collection.

He follows Mitaka down empty corridors but they do not speak yet. Not until they reach a far-off wing of the palace, down stairs into a dungeon of mossy damp stone and rusting iron. His commander pauses in his steps and looks around, murmuring quietly.

"There has been no word since this morning."

"Of Magess?" Hux says.

Mitaka appears satisfied that no hidden eyes or ears lurk in waiting. "Yes," he says. "I have a log for the cruiser and verification of the lifepod used to transport him."

"And the destination?"

"No flight plan was filed but the duration was for some weeks. Long enough to make it to the Unknown Regions. All correspond with our reports, but details have been scarce."

"Why was he spared?" Hux cannot help but ask. He does not like to stoop to palace intrigue but the past few days have produced too much delicious gossip to ignore.

"It was by order of the Empress," Mitaka says.

"The Jedi? Clever girl. She controls the Emperor by the testicles now."

"Yes."

Hux resists the urge to sneer at the way the other man tugs his collar and swallows. "Tell me about the others," he says.

Mitaka is composed again, back in his element. "The remaining knights have taken to their quarters since the youngest was arrested. Lying low no doubt. Kirss thinks they are too smart to take sides this soon."

"She is most likely right," Hux says. "But what of the dumb brute?"

"He remains unfailingly loyal to the Emperor."

"Increase surveillance. I want him watched even in sleep."

"Already done, sir."

They resume their journey until reaching the guarded entrance to the dungeon. A pair of sentries hold open a gate and allow them passage. There is no exchange of words or any other kind of verification.

"The night shift just took over," Mitaka explains. "They are sympathetic and discreet. There will be no record of your presence."

Hux nods, reluctantly impressed as a third guard silently leads them to what appears to be the darkest and dankest corner. They stop before a heavy metallic door welded with archaic bolts and bearing three cavernous keyholes. The guard unlocks each one in turn with three unwieldy keys bigger than a man’s hand. He salutes and moves away, still silently.

"Wait out here," Hux tells Mitaka and pushes open the door. It creaks and requires the effort of his full weight.

The room inside is unlit. Hux lets the door creak shut behind him. He can see nothing in the shadows and stands to attention with arms held behind his back. He blinks and tries to be patient.

"You are ugly," a voice says, soft and lilting, almost as melodic as the princess’.

Hux shuffles uncomfortably. "You cannot see my face."

"But I can see you."

"Show yourself."

An overhead bulb fizzes and flickers on. It hovers from white to yellow to orange to green. It grows too bright to see anything then it dims down and settles on a neutral glow. Hux blinks again, adjusting to the light. He flinches and steps back, nearly colliding with the door. A figure stands barely two feet away.

The knight known as Pular is slender and not very tall. Hux thinks he has at least half a head in height and some mass to his advantage but the boy’s eyes are cold, hard, empty things. Like jewels without facets. He does not look up but looks everywhere it seems. His face, once angular and feminine, is now bruised and swollen. Purple blots his pale skin and his lips are scabbed and crusted. He parts his mouth and shows sharp teeth.

"You find me ugly too."

"I had only heard of the Emperor’s actions. To see the result…" Hux lets his voice trail off. He straightens up and says quietly, "Let us speak of true monsters."

"You want my help."

"I want to remove the savage beast from power. To preserve our reign. He does not deserve—"

"And you do?" Pular tilts his head. "You are a jealous child."

"You are a boy—!"

"We are all children here. The Emperor lusts and he covets. He has his Jedi pet and will do whatever she says to keep her. He has given up all he promised us. He has betrayed his true nature."

"And what is that?"

"You do not believe in the Force," Pular says.

"I have felt it." Hux cannot forget the pressure of invisible fingers around his neck, being dragged across cold floors, having his skull pried open. "It is a tool for manipulation and nothing more."

"No." Pular smiles, a most unnatural gesture. "It is what controls us. And to control it is to control everything. The Emperor has that power. So did Snoke. The Jedi has it too. I can feel it as I breathe, as I lie here in the darkness. It speaks to me and tells me things."

"What does it say?"

The boy’s smile stretches wider, until fresh blood oozes from his lips and his teeth glisten bright crimson. "Alec is still here."

* * *

He is gone, Rey thinks. Alec is gone but it not the reason that she has been awake since before dawn. Before even Ben. Her husband returned to their bed late in the night and slept deeply with his arms secure about her. When he did wake, he found her in their training room and they sparred with wooden staffs and she won, a genuine win for his concentration was lacking. She straddled his bare chest and he pulled her to his mouth and tasted her through her clothing. There was no time to question the look in his eyes, the hesitation, the distraction. She did not ask him how he felt, only let herself feel.

She is excited, even now. She could hardly sleep the night before. There is no tempering by any sadness, not by the thought of Alec being shipped far across the galaxy; she is determined not to think of him at all.  
  
They shower and share breakfast together and she attempts to dress, though Ben seems more determined in removing her clothes than assisting in putting them on. He leaves before she does, trapped in meetings for the rest of the day, she knows, and he does not share her excitement, does not appear to like the way that she makes so much effort. She sends him off with a kiss and sees Selena in.  
  
"What is the occasion, my Lady?" she asks politely as Rey smiles and hugs her, dragging her by the arm to the bedroom.  
  
"My friend has come back to me."  
  
Her friend does not smile when Rey sees him.  
  
The rest of the Resistance do not matter. There is only Finn, dressed in space-worn clothes. He looks older and somehow hardened, like her hands from too much scavenging. This fight has taken a toll on them all and yet she has scrubbed and preened and dressed like a princess. She feels silly, almost fake. Still she goes to him and takes him in her arms.  
  
He does not return the embrace, not at first. Things have changed, he says and Rey knows, how she does, but she has missed him so much. Missed the way that he finally holds her too, his arms as kind as ever.  
  
She greets Rose, precious girl; says how she is thankful and shows her with needy warmth. Rey is making a family, she thinks. In this peace. In her love for her husband and her friends. If she could hold them all together and keep them here and show them. But Finn paces the room when she has dismissed all the rest. His face changes. He looks annoyed once again. Rey is afraid to give voice to the thought but she thinks she sees disappointment.

"I guess you have some questions," she says. She sits down on a sofa and pats the space next to her. "Please."

Rose decides to join her, perched on the edge of a cushion with her hands folded in her lap. Finn continues to pace.

"Kylo Ren, Rey. You kriffing married Kylo Ren! How? Why?" He comes to a stop before her. "Did he force you? Were you put up to this?" He gets down on his knees and reaches for her hands. "We can help you. Just say the word. We can get you out. You didn’t choose this, I know, and things happened and—"

"Ben," Rey says.

"Huh?"

"His name is Ben."

"Who the kriff are you talking about?"

"My husband," Rey says.

Finn lets her go. He stands and looks down, searching her face for something he can recognize but maybe can no longer see. The thought makes Rey sad. Her first friend. Her dearest one. Things have changed but it can never change what he means to her.

"What happened to you?" he says, voice soft and disappointed, yes, but she will work her way through this.

"I fell in love."

"With the man who tried to kill us? Who killed Han. His own father, Rey!"

"I know, okay? I know it makes no sense but you don’t know him like I do and you don’t know me like he does."

"I thought I knew you."

"You still do." Rey doesn’t want to cry. "I wanted to see you, to explain…" She rubs at her eyes, can feel a light hand at her shoulder.

"Finn," Rose says. "Give her a chance. You need to listen." She reaches in her pocket and hands Rey a piece of cloth. "I always keep one handy, you never know."

"Thank you," Rey says. Her eyes stay on Finn, waiting to see how he’ll react, even as she loudly blows her nose.

He sighs and with the exhalation he deflates until his shoulders slump. "Okay." He is rewarded by Rose’s smile but his face is still serious and dour as he takes a seat at Rey’s other side. "So explain."

He’s leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees, his eyes somewhere between the far wall and the floor as Rey gathers her courage and takes a deep breath and says, "I never thought this would happen."

Her fingers twist around the scrap of cloth from Rose and Rose’s hand is still on her shoulder. Rey can feel the warmth seeping into her skin, something kind and reassuring. It gives her the encouragement she needs to keep talking.

"I only came here to protect Leia and Poe. I was afraid of Ben at first, of our bond in the Force. I didn’t know what it would mean or what would happen. And it was awful at first. There was so much Darkness here and it hurt me. It hurt us both and made the bond like a curse. But Ben was determined to figure it out. Something was trying to get to me and he took me away from here to keep me safe. He showed me so much, taught me how to use my powers. He saved me and I saved him. There was so much good we could do, I saw that inside him and he saw something in me too, something worthwhile I didn’t know that I could be. It’s not been easy but even after—"

"So the Force made you do this?"

"No! Would you listen? Something happened, something went very wrong and we were hurt but Ben made sure we made it out okay. It just meant that the bond… it got broken." It hurts to talk about it still, even with some distance, like the constant grief following the death of a loved one. "So no, we are not connected by the Force. But I still chose to marry him. And I would again. I love him. More than I thought it was possible to love anyone."

"Rey," Finn is looking at her, "how can you say he’s a good person after all he’s done?"

"You can ask him. I would really like you to. I want you to talk and figure out… that’s part of the reason I asked you here. With the peace treaty and the senate, we’re going to find a way to reform the stormtrooper program. He needs your help with that. We both do."

"That sounds amazing," Rose says.

"Whose side are you on?"

"Finn, it’s not about taking sides. Can’t you see?" Rose reaches an arm across Rey’s lap until she finds one of Finn’s clenched hands. "Don’t you remember what I told you?"

"Yes," he says. He squeezes her hand back and Rey can see the love between them. She remembers seeing Finn tucking a blanket around Rose’s unconscious form and she had almost felt jealous; now she knows what it is.

"Are we still friends?" Rey whispers.

"Are you nuts?" Finn’s arm is around her. "You’re the reason I’m here, that I joined the Resistance. That I got to meet Rose," he quickly adds and looks to the other woman, "That might be the best reason."

Rey sniffles and laughs. "I’m so glad. But you know the Resistance don’t trust me, even Poe. I’ve been called a traitor and worse. I’ve lost friends already and I couldn’t bear—"

"Would you listen?" Finn repeats. He pulls her against his shoulder and Rey can feel Rose’s hand return to its place on her arm. "I’m still your friend."

"And I’m your friend too so that’s a net gain, right?" Rose says. "If you ask me, I think the Resistance should be thanking you. You did what they couldn’t and it didn’t take battles and endless more people dying." Her hand squeezes Rey’s arm and Rey looks at her. "All it took was two people who crossed that divide and simply fell in love."

* * *

"I missed you," Ben says, his arms about her waist lifting Rey clear off the floor as he kisses her hungrily.

"I missed you too," she says and she did but he is making what she has to ask him difficult. He has been in meetings all day and there was no chance before. She lets him hold her and then the kisses stop. He is looking somewhere over her shoulder at a table laid out not for two but for four people.

"Are we expecting company?" he says.

"Yes."

"Who?" He drops her to her feet. "Answer me, Rey."

"Or what?" There is no point is avoiding this so she does answer him, even if she hates how he demanded it of her. "Finn and Rose," she explains.

"Finn and…?" His hands form their preferred designation of fists. "No. _No._ Absolutely not."

"But I already told them—"

"You didn't think to consult with me first?"

"Consult with you? I'm consulting with you now. Should I request a royal audience?"

"You know what I mean."

"There's no point in arguing. They'll be here any minute."

Right on cue the buzzer sounds. Rey can hear a commotion as she approaches the doors and opens them to see Finn yelling at the mask of an Imperial guard. "We were told to come here by the Empress. _Em-press._ You know, the woman you take orders from—?"

"Hey," Rose says, spotting Rey.

"Hey! It’s fine," she tells the guards, who move instantly away. "Why don’t you both come in."

From behind her she can hear Rose’s breathing hitch as she takes in the overly ornate space and Finn shuffle his feet in growing agitation for he knows what awaits.

They turn a corner and Ben stands to greet them. If by greet you mean no words and a blank expression save for the twitch of his left eye.

"Ben, this is Finn and Rose," Rey says.

Ben gives a stiff bow and Rose murmurs, "Nice to meet you." Finn kindly offers, "Nice digs, Kylo Ren," to which Rey can detect a slight increase in Ben’s eye twitching.

"Come sit and let’s eat, you must be starving," Rey says, taking Ben’s arm and practically dragging him to the table.

Dinner is a stilted affair. She and Rose push the conversation along as best they can, mostly among themselves, as the two men sit silently and stare daggers at each other.

"This food is delicious," Rose says, directing her compliment at Ben, to which he responds with the galaxy’s quietest, "Thank you."

Rey wants to scream but Finn beats her to it. "What are we doing? This has got to be a joke," he says. "Playing house with Kylo Ren?" He stands. "I’m sorry, Rey, I tried. I’m truly sorry. But I cannot sit here and pretend any longer."

"Then go," Ben says.

"Ben!"

"Oh, I’m going," Finn tosses his napkin to the table. "Come on, Rose."

"Suit yourself. I’m here for Rey and I’m enjoying the food." Rose takes another mouthful and continues to talk while chewing, "I wasn’t lying; this is really good."

"If you would excuse me," Ben says (Rey hopes he was not too offended by Rose’s lapse in dinner etiquette) and he stands as well.

"And where do you think you are going?" Rey demands.

"For once I agree with the traitor," he says.

"You will sit down right now."

"I will not be dictated to in my own home."

This is a disaster, maybe Rey’s worst idea yet, but the outcome is important. "I don’t want you to go," she tells him. "I need you here. Please, Ben."

Perhaps she has played dirty, but her words have the desired effect. Ben sits back down.

"Holy everloving kriff," Finn says, whistling to underscore the point. "Kylo Ren is officially one whipped-ass—"

"Finn!" Rose points a threatening fork at him. "Be quiet. And you are not going anywhere. We promised Rey there are things we’d discuss."

"Like what?"

"Just sit down, Finn."

He does, except now he and Ben can barely look at each other.

"I need you to tell Ben about the stormtrooper program," Rey begins. "What sort of effect it had and how we can make it better."

"You want to know?" Finn says, his question aimed solely at Ben.

Ben takes a sip of water as he chooses his words carefully. "I have some appreciation of how hard it is to do what you have done, to break free from everything you have been taught."

"You couldn’t begin to know."

"Then tell me."

Finn does. The rest of the table quietly listen as he describes his earliest memories being in the indoctrination center; an elite school was the way it was sold to unsuspecting parents, the ones that even got a say over their children being taken. From then on there was only one family to whom you belonged, one parent you could love, and it began and ended with the machine of the First Order.

"It was you," Finn says. "You were the reason I knew this was wrong. My first battle and you demanded that we slaughter a whole village. That was my line and I couldn’t cross it. I’d just seen my friend die, seen innocents suffer, and I wasn’t going to be a part of that; I couldn’t."

"I let you go," Ben says.

"What?"

"I saw that you weren’t going to follow my orders. Do you remember?"

"I think… you looked at me."

"Yes. And I could feel your hesitation. I knew your thoughts and I let you go."

"Why?"

"Because I had my own hesitation as well."

"Why did it take you so long?" Finn says.

"So long to do what?"

"To do what I did. To change things for the better."

Rey waits for Ben’s answer, heart in her throat; she cannot breathe for lack of believing this has happened. Her husband and her friend have talked and not a single drop of blood has been shed. Ben is looking at her when she drifts back to reality.

"She showed me how."

* * *

"Bed," Ben says.

"Not yet."  
  
They are curled together on the sofa, this one gray and large enough for Ben to lie flat on and her beside him. Finn and Rose are long gone. There was peace between Finn and her husband when they left, not friendship or even camaraderie (Rey is not so naïve to have expected that). But it was more than she could have hoped for. Finn agreed that they should meet again, that he wanted to help with dismantling the stormtrooper program and Rey beamed and hugged him and Ben watched without anger and Rose could barely contain her joy at the endeavor, all of which was good.  
  
Small steps. Rey has to stop running. To tread slowly and be patient. She does not forget how to wait. She will make them see.  
  
"What are you thinking?" her husband says.  
  
"Do you miss when you could know without me saying?"  
  
She feels his arms tighten around her. "Yes but it was lazy. There is more to be gained in earning your confidence this way. I am enjoying still getting to know you, to have these conversations."  
  
"I am grateful too." They lie together and speak of their day and she thinks this is what it means to share your life with another, to literally share and give them your words, all you hold inside freely without fear. She is ready to share just what his words over dinner mean to her when the buzzer to their rooms can be heard. "Who is that at this time?" she says.  
  
Ben untangles himself from her. "Probably Malaak." He stands. "Wait here." But she follows anyway, all the way to the doors, which Ben opens to reveal the tattooed knight.  
  
"My Lord." His eyes land on Rey as if he is surprised to see her. "My Lady."  
  
"What is your news?" Ben says.  
  
His gaze returns to Ben, weary and somehow haunted, and he says only, "It is done."  
  
"Thank you, Malaak. You may go."  
  
Rey waits for the doors to close and turns to her husband. "What is done?"  
  
Ben holds her close. "He is gone from our lives for good," he says and she knows, she understands. "You cannot feel him?"  
  
"No."  
  
She smiles in her excitement. It is done, it is done, it is over. Her husband’s mouth covers her own and he is the only one she will know like this, the only one in her thoughts.  
  
"Make love to me," she tells him, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to their bed, doing as she wills in adoration and celebration and something primal and possessive that leaves her weak, wholly sated and consumed by him, her consciousness fading until she knows no more.

* * *

Hux wakes to the memory of a kiss.

He can recall sweet lips and soft skin, silver hair wound like a rope around the palm of his hand. Firm breasts, a slender waist, long legs and delicate bones that speak to generations of fine breeding. Not bovine stock like the mother who bore him, but gentlewomen whose rarefied bodies and immaculate cunts were reserved for the use of but one owner in order to ensure purity of offspring.  
  
A virgin girl borne of a virgin mother. A slave in his father's house once remarked that he was obsessed with such things and Hux agreed, backhanding him for his insolence of course, but Meban was the closest thing he had had to a friend growing up and the general still feels that way, though Meban has been dead and buried many years, a victim of Hux's own hand. Destroy what you love, his cruel father commanded, and in this Brendol Hux was wise, for his son observed that love often bore chains of enslavement, distractions that an ambitious man could ill afford. And yet—  
  
A small part of him thinks he would not mind so much for her.  
  
A perfect creature kept and possessed, virginal and wanting, biddable and frightened as a doe, there is something deep within this princess that appeals to Hux, appeals far beyond her station and the beautiful quality of her highborn parts. He knows he is not a creature capable of love but of adoration—he can appreciate things, he can savor the feel of them. Yes, adoration. He breathes deeply and inhales the faint wisp of her perfume. Eloquent and restrained, like everything else about her.  
  
She makes no noise as she sleeps. This is the first clue. Eyes closed, he feels for her idly among the bedclothes, but finds no skin or bones or hair. He opens his eyes. There is no gown upon the floor. He struggles to remember. (This is the second clue.)  
  
There is the memory of an opulent meal served upon white cloth. They ate in this very room and the evidence of it lingers, even if she does not. Two plates, two glasses, one bottle of prohibitively expensive Scara wine—it is just as he last saw it. From there there were touches, an inviting glance from her pale blue eyes. One kiss, then two, then many, his hands caressing places that gave way to gasps, a sharp intake of her breath, adrenaline and fear and arousal, he could smell it on her, can still smell it now. He had her in this bed, beneath him, there was more skin, so much of her silken skin he knows the feel of it, of her parts, of trembling wings, her heart's flutter, her mouth, and then—  
  
He remembers nothing.  
  
Hux is not a good drunk, which is why he does not drink to excess. He thinks back; he did not drink to excess last night and yet the bottle is empty. A stocking hangs limp from the lamp on the bedside table. It is white and trimmed by lace, stretched thin and long like those graceful limbs he explored the lengths of. He picks up the article, inspects it. Licks it to see if he can recall her taste but it does not register. Still, he smiles to himself, the self-satisfied smile of a proud male when he finds and fucks something worth finding and fucking. If only he could remember the latter and it is this thought that nags at him as he steps into the refresher and under the taps of the shower.  
  
It is here the third clue lies, and this one is the most damning.  
  
His skin stings. His chest, to be specific, and he looks down for the first time and notices eight long and deep scratches across it. Hux pauses. He stares at them for an interminable duration. He shuts off the water without further washing, steps out of the cubicle without toweling off and stands in front of the mirror. Red and angry, they stare back at him like willful accusers. It is not a proud, self-satisfied expression that he sees in his reflection. It is a look of shock, of fear, of the copper tang of blood where he has bitten too hard on the inside of his lip, and his brain articulates what his senses have been trying to tell him.  
  
Something is wrong.  
  
He does not like to be touched. He cannot stand to be marked. He takes great delight in damaging the bodies of his bedfellows, but would never think to allow the same liberty to his own. It is an abomination, a debasement; it is a crumpled child in terror of a father whose blows leave bruises and cuts. He killed that monster so as to never be marked again and yet, here he is.  
  
He dresses in mere seconds and goes back to the dinner table. What did she use on him? He checks the bottle again. It is not only empty, it has been rinsed. The glasses too. There is not even the smell of the fragrant wine, no indication of what she mixed with the blood-red liquid and certainly no indication as to why. He leaves his rooms. He goes directly to the security block within the basement level of the building. He has the guards bring up the footage for camera 1708. His room. He keeps personal logs and volumes, he likes to relieve moments, the humiliation of an underling, the debasement of a lover. They are equally stimulating to him and so he keeps them like insects in a jar, small data files of those he has collected. He waits to see what fills this one. The unpleasant copper tang remains. He watches the duty officers stumble over themselves to locate it, waits as their inept fingers scroll across buttons and keys, until he can smell their perspiration, their fear of discovery. They tell him what he already knows. What he has known from the start: That last night's footage has been erased; that they remember nothing.  
  
He does not stay to dole out punishment; there is nothing worth collecting now. He runs back to his quarters. There is no way, he thinks, no way and yet she had the wine spiked and the footage erased but there is no way that she would know where to look.

He removes a panel beneath the bottom drawer of his desk; a hidden space, one that only he knows of. One that holds ship manifests of cruisers sent for decommissioning. Cruisers that would have no need of troops and supplies. Cruisers with official manifests that bear no trace at all of their actual cargo. But these do. Hand-written upon sheets of ancient paper, in Mitaka's cramped and worried print. The evidence of their treachery. A death warrant on tangible leaves.

And they are gone.


	43. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't know where this burst of inspiration came from but I'm just gonna go with it, m'kay? Gird your loins, grab some salts, and keep dem pearls close by.

"Their rising all at once was as the sound  
Of thunder heard remote."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

There is blood on the blood-red sheets. There is blood between her thighs and on her lover’s body. There is blood on her tongue. In her mind. The room is an abattoir and they are the cattle, the victims, flayed flesh ready to be eaten.

She lies like an oyster’s pearl, a thick muscled arm around her, a large intimidating figure sleeping sweetly by her side. She traces his marks, the ones made of ink and the ones she has bestowed him. She kisses them and smiles.

He does not stir when she goes to the refresher. She showers and bloody water gathers and circles down the drain, the filth of their union, their combined fluids that poured out of her. She has not loved a man and it is different, a taking, giving over, losing something. She thinks of women’s soft bodies, curves and smoothness and the way love was shared, mouths and fingers working in tandem, guiding each other to a precipice. This is different. Nothing worse or better. But the man she gave herself to is unique to the universe. She thinks that he belongs to her.

He sits on the edge of the bed when she emerges, fixing her robe about her, he still naked. Her eyes pour over him. A rock sculpture. She would ride him again. She feels it in the way her thighs press together, something throbs at her core. He looks at her and she goes to him, gives him her hand, which he puts to his cheek.

"Elsa," he breathes.

She leans down and kisses him. He pulls open her robe and she lets him see her, lets him touch what he wants, lets him stand and lift her and take her wherever he wants to.

They shower together after the second time.

He dresses quickly and observes her rituals, the creams she uses, the underwear she slips on, the way she combs her hair and braids it with practiced fingers. The dress she chooses.

"Malaak, would you lace me?"

He is awkward, hands fumbling as he struggles and threads the ribbons through and ties the dress together, pulling a too-tight knot about her waist. She does not complain, just turns to face him and lets his hands span that narrow circumference, relishes the difference in their sizes and proportions. She is lost to him and he looks as if he is lost to her.

"I need to see the Emperor," she tells him. "Urgently."

"I will take you."

"No." Her fingers trace his lips and she feels how he wants to bite them, draw them into his mouth, undress her all again. "Not together. Leave and let the Force hide you. I will meet you where he works."

He nods. "Until then."

He kisses her hand and he is gone. Elsa calls for a droid, who brings in breakfast. She makes her own tea and eats fruit and a single pastry. She feels cleansed; no trace of Hux is left on her, just the marks of another, the one she wants, the one who knows her. She allows herself one final glance in the mirror and then she leaves, knowing what she must do.

The walk to the Emperor’s receiving rooms is not a long one. A scattering of First Order officers pass her and she feels their gazes. She wonders if they suspect but reminds herself it is the usual leers, the superficial kind of appraisal she is used to. Head held high, she walks without acknowledging another. She reaches the entrance protected by the imposing Imperial guards but they know who she is now and when she asks for an audience, they simply stand aside.

Inside, the Emperor sits behind his desk, the Empress at his right and Malaak standing stoically in the background. Several courtiers are before the desk, burdened by numerous datapads. They are waiting for the Emperor’s answer but his eyes are drawn to Elsa.

"Cousin," he says, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"A moment of your time please, my Lord."

The Emperor lifts his hand in a subtle gesture and the courtiers straighten and turn, leaving like droids with basic programming. A trick of the Force, she presumes and she is grateful. There can be no more audience than the four of them right now.

The Emperor points to a vacant seat and Elsa takes it.

"You have my attention," he says.

"What is it, Isolde?" The Empress studies her with concern and Elsa knows her composure is failing; she is about to inflict an irreparable wound.

"Tell them," Malaak says, and his voice and his face, all faith and encouragement, give her the strength that she needs.

Blood, she thinks. It is by which they live and die. It is what surges in her now as she speaks:

"There is the gravest threat to your rule."

* * *

"We don’t have much time."

Hux checks the monitors again. There are seven guards posted outside his chambers, a dozen more at the entrance to the building. All loyal servants, all willing to die for the First Order. Still he knows they will not last long against the Emperor and his sorcerer's ilk. They are a warning system, nothing more. He looks to Mitaka, "Report."  
  
"The brute was with the princess last night. He went to her rooms and she also returned there, presumably after she left you drugged." On a lesser day, Hux would punish him for his insolence, but time is a luxury he can no longer afford.  
  
"And then?" Hux says. "What of the papers?"  
  
"Recovered." It is Kirss who speaks now, clad not in her uniform but in the dingy brown apron of the lower domestic staff. "Dug up from the garden where she goes to visit the old pirate. There was fresh earth recently disturbed; it wasn't hard to find."  
  
"So she has no evidence," Mitaka finishes. "The Emperor cannot arrest you, there is no proof."  
  
"He doesn't need proof," Hux says. "And he will arrest me. He will take the word of that whore and that dumb brute and he will use it to fashion my burial shroud. It is as we feared. Mitaka," he turns to his most trusted commander. "You must take control of the fleet. Keep them safe and hidden until the appointed time. The friends of my father's in the Unknown Regions will be your best allies until we are ready. Kirss," he says, and the beautiful woman stands up straighter. "You know what you have to do. When you leave, use unregistered transports and travel as a refugee."  
  
"I already have the papers ready," Kirss smiles. "A defecting stormtrooper seeking political asylum."  
  
"A stroke of genius." Hux checks the chronometer again. "You must go now." He lifts his right arm. "All hail the First Order."  
  
Mitaka and Kirss follow suit. "May it stand forever."  
  
The two leave quietly, using back exits and stairwells concealed from the building’s official schematics. The palace is full of such passageways, of secrets, full of people whose loyalties are not what they seem. Hux takes a steadying breath; he does not relish what is to come. The comms crackle with exclamations from the guards. It has already begun, he thinks. A trembling rocks the building, a murmur that crescendos to an earthquake. He can hear the crunch of his stormtroopers' helmets, hear bodies breaking just beyond the paneled doors. Gracefully, Hux takes a seat and reaches for a porcelain-handled pot.  
  
The doors explode from the outside, and the Emperor of the Known Galaxy steps through the flaming debris.  
  
"My Lord," Hux says, raising a dram-cup. "Would you care for some coffee?"

* * *

Kirss walks the palace grounds like a shadow. Known always for her beauty, she is now unrecognizable, a mere servant in tattered clothes, and she gathers no attention. She heads directly to the knights' barracks, stopping every few yards to make sure that she isn't being followed, to make sure that no traps wait for her. She grabs a mop and a dustpan and makes a show of cleaning the great hall. It is empty now, and she is thankful for that small blessing as she makes soft steps towards the chambers. Only two remain here now, and they do not bother with the pretence of separate accommodations.  
  
She hovers outside the door, listening for sounds of breathing, for a shifting in the floorboards that would indicate their presence, but feels nothing. Kirss despairs and turns away but just as she does, the door opens and strong arms grab her and pull her inside.

She is thrown upon a bed. Her vision darkens and her windpipe constricts. She is suffocating, dying; she tries to move her limbs but they are frozen in place.  
  
"Ease up, Vadanav," she hears a voice say. "If you kill her, there won't be anything left to read."  
  
Kirss registers a grunt and then the pressure eases. She sucks air into her lungs like a hungry animal. Tears stream down her cheeks in relief but still she cannot move.  
  
A dark face swims into her field of vision. "Ah, the lovely one. Come to seduce us again?"  
  
"I—" the word comes out as a croak but still she cannot speak.  
  
"We have no need for your words, cunt," the pale one, the one called Vadanav says. "My brother can read all your thoughts."  
  
"Considerate as ever," Ersn says, and returns his attention to Kirss. "Forgive him, he is overcome with jealousy sometimes. A most attractive trait to be sure." He lays a hand on Kirss' forehead, and calm swims through her veins like cool water. "It's easier if you're relaxed," he explains, and then he begins to work.  
  
Kirss has been penetrated many times and in many ways, but never anything like this. The sensation is shocking, horrifying; it is beyond her control and she is helpless to do anything but watch. Her mind is what is plundered now and there is nothing secret, nothing safe. She tries to hide what she has been entrusted with, but the more she tries, the more those thoughts are brought to the surface: the secret fleet in the Unknown Regions, Mitaka hurrying towards them, Hux's resignation to his fate, the palace's secrets, what Hux told her of his meeting with the knight called Pular, what Pular said to him—  
  
Ersn's hands are on her now. He is gripping her by the shoulders, fingers pressing hard enough to make the bones bruise. "What do you mean?" he says softly. His pale eyes are wild, a green fire that burns with terrifying intensity. "What do you mean Alec is still here?"

* * *

Malaak returns to the barracks in the evening. It is Elsa’s wish that they stay apart until the messy business with Hux settles down, which he accepted with an assurance from the Emperor that she would be heavily guarded. His chambers now seem foreign; there is no sense of home, not without her. He already misses her red rooms, like a womb where he is safe and cared for and they are together. She is everything to him. It is hard to say, to admit, but his heart resides there, the cracked and scarred remnants that Jana left, they are jewels of a princess now.

He enters the main hall to find his brothers sitting at the long table with tankards of ale in hand. Malaak gets the suspicion they are waiting for him. Ersn confirms this when he points to a third glass.

"Join us," he says.

Malaak does. He accepts the offered drink and downs half quickly. He feels both Vadanav and Ersn stare at him, the usual silent conversations passing between them. He has not spoken to them since they met in the throne room with the Emperor the day before.

"How are you, brother?" Ersn says.

Malaak considers and almost answers honestly. He does not know. He has the trust of the Emperor and the gift of a beautiful woman. But the family he has known is broken. "Could be worse, could be better."

"Sad times," says Vadanav.

"Yeah?"

"Alec gone and Pular imprisoned. Kylo rendered as docile as a Jedi. What has happened to us?"

"What’s got you so introspective? Thought you knew where you stood."

"Where is there left to stand?" the pale knight says. "This is not why we burned the temple down."

"Then why did we?" He looks at the two, who do not seem to have an answer. "I can tell you why I did."

Ersn smiles. "Because Kylo said jump?"

Malaak slams his tankard down, foam sloshing over his hand. "Idiots! All of you! Did you never think for yourselves? We were suffocating under Luke. He couldn’t help you hone how to read a mind, he couldn’t even help me read in basic. We were lost and Ben was the first one to give us a choice."

"Ben?" Vadanav repeats. "Are you his wife now?"

"He goes by Ben. It is his choice."

"He has betrayed us," Ersn says. "He fed you and the rest of us lies. Why are you so loyal to him?"

"Why are you not? Because he didn’t give you power and control like you imagined? Because he’s not obsessed with the Sith? All he wants is to bring a new order to the galaxy and to the Force. It doesn’t have to be the way it was before. We’re not trapped being anything."

"No." Vadanav rises. "As long as we agree with _Ben_ , we’re not trapped. But what of Alec and Pular? Look what happened to them."

"Alec almost killed him and the Lady Rey. Pular tried to kill them too. Should their crimes be ignored?"

"Their _crimes_? What do you think drove our brothers to this madness?" Ersn says. "Do you believe everything that the Emperor tells you? Or does he tell you things that we don’t know?"

Malaak feels the Force change, feels it grow Dark and heavy around him. It caresses his brain, whispers promises to speak and all will be well. He blinks. He feels like hands are pressing on his shoulders, holding him down. He struggles against invisible restraints, but he is suddenly tired.

"What is your game?" His voice is growing heavy too. He cannot speak as Ersn stares at him with his soft, pale eyes.

"You are safe here, brother. You are safe."

Vadanav is behind him and Ersn is inside his head. Malaak wants to fight. He wants to scream at his brothers. But the room grows so dark that he cannot see anything, just Elsa waiting for him, Elsa reaching out and gathering him close so he can sleep now in this womb of red.

_Rest._

Okay, he thinks. Okay, my princess. I am tired. I will sleep now. And he drifts off to the comfort of her body, her breasts a welcome pillow and his blanket the silver of her hair.

* * *

Hux collapses in a heap upon the wet stone floor. Wet with what he cannot say, for there is no light in this chamber, and he is grateful for that. His body, so carefully protected from marks, has been bludgeoned, nearly torn asunder, not so much the work of the Force as the vengeful hands of the Emperor himself.

The beast not only brutalised his body but invaded his mind. Claws tore through carefully crafted layers, searching aimlessly for anything that could be used against him, but the physical proof is gone and this is what saved him. Even as he felt a cold shadow close around him, his heart slow down and his breathing stutter and the thread of life he clung to be pulled taut and unravel.

"You will pray for death," the Emperor said. "You will pray for me to end your pain and you will smile on me as your kindest friend. You will beg for my mercy."

Monster, Hux thought; he does not know if he spoke the word. The Emperor left and he was aware of the voice of the Jedi wench—wretched concubine slut—and there were others. He was dragged away on the premise of due process. _Politics_ the murmurs said. Politics? Ha! He has never been so glad of the thought, and snatches at it with the selfish fingers of a child. For that stupid word is his salvation now, it is the only thing keeping him alive. Mitaka cannot launch a rescue from his present location, and Kirss knows better than to give up the game so easily.

Hux can see enough to know where his damaged body now resides. As serendipity would have it, he even knows who his neighbor is.

"Pular," his voice is a mere scratch against paper. "Pular, can you hear me?"

There is only silence. He gathers air in his lungs, made painful from the spiking pain of broken ribs, but his anger spikes even higher.

"Speak, you sorcerer bastard—I know you can hear me!"

Laughter filters through. Then a sound even more unpleasant. Screeching. Something shifts and drops to the floor with a dull bang. A frisson of light appears, almost blinding, as Hux stares into a hole in the wall.

"Ah, General. What a pair we are." The voice is more melodic than Hux remembers.

"Can you help me?" Hux says and tries not to sound like he is begging.

"How can I help anyone? I am as powerless as you."

"How did the…? You just pulled apart the wall."

"The wall is weak."

"You are a snake in the grass," Hux says. "An adder lying in wait for a bit of flesh to pass by."

"Perhaps," Pular concedes. "But how do you think that I can help you?"

"Get your comrades to come and rescue us."

"Us? There is an us?"

"I can offer safe passage."

"For whom?"

"For all of you."

"And Alec?"

"Fuck! I don't know where he is." It's not as if Hux hasn't tried. But there has been no time, and the trail on Magess has gone cold.

"Oh, but my brothers do. Yes," Pular speaks to no one. "Yes. They have learned so much." The boy hums, a lullaby of nightmares, and Hux must make himself wait. He waits for what feels like an eternity, but he knows that if he should say anything, this opportunity will be lost.

"Ersn wants to know if you truly believe in the vision of the Sith," Pular says and his tone is deadly serious.

"I don’t know the Sith." Hux is reduced to honesty. "I believe in the First Order. I believe in rule through might and justice through power."

He waits as Pular communicates this. "Close enough," Pular says. "And you will give us command of your armies."

"I will give you command of nothing."

"General," Pular's sweet voice circles his ears. "You cannot stand against us. The only question is whether you will be allowed to come along."

"Yes," Hux pleads. "Of course. Anything you ask. I will be your servant. I and all my armies." Was it ever this bad while Snoke still lived?

Another moment of silence and Hux gets his answer.

"My brothers and I accept."


	44. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If anyone still exists who is reading this thing, I am sorry it has taken so long to update. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can keep to any kind of regular posting schedule, but I promise to update as often as I can. Thank you for all your patience and I hope you enjoy. Shit is getting realer and realer, and the Pain Train is full speed ahead! <3

"My sentence is for open war."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Rey can see light. Nothing distinct, just a foggy blur. A warm glow. There is comfort. Strong arms around her, the safest arms she knows. But the warm embrace disintegrates, replaced by the punishing heat of a desert. She feels sand, gritty against her skin, penetrating all the cracks, every tear in her clothes. Coarse winds. She is home. She is alone. Small and young again. Lost girl. Desert girl. It is dark. It is night. The light comes and goes.

She sees her husband standing in the distance and she runs. Black wraith in the shadows, his face pale as a moon, guiding her, waiting.

The sand is shifting beneath her. Her feet have disappeared. She is sinking. She is screaming for Ben, but he is sinking too. She drags herself through the growing grains of sand, moving like time passing too quickly; it is running out. She is close but Ben is nearly half covered. To his waist then his shoulders. So tall. So immovable. Now the sand swallows him. His eyes are meeting hers, but the sand is gathering and rising up over his face. She screams. She is drowning too. A black gloved hand reaches out. She grasps fingers but they slip through her own. She buries her hands, starts digging, keeps screaming. She digs and digs and cries, a precious rain. She digs and digs and someone holds her hand back. How she pulls, with all her strength, a sinewy body of hard work, of arduous scavenging for years, of having to fight, and she has found him. She will not let go.

She pulls and the parts of his body are emerging. His hand and wrist and arm and face. She brushes the sand back to let him breathe. She will help him. She will save her love.

She brushes the sand back and the hair she sees is sandy too. The face is tanned and well-proportioned. Delicate eyelashes like gold. The eyelids flutter and open to reveal a glassy blue.

The man she has saved is not her husband. It is not the one she wants to see. He smiles, and his hand will not let go of hers. He is pulling her back down into the desert and she is screaming.

"ALEC!"

Rey wakes to the dark of her bedroom. Her hand scrabbles around but there is no solid flesh beside her, no reassuring arms or quiet words. The other side of the bed is empty.

Her husband is gone.

* * *

The doors to the dungeon are warped and crushed. Ben steps through, a nervous officer and several more of lower rank all hovering behind him. He senses their fear. No one talks. No one dares say what has happened. What Ben sees inside the dungeon speaks for itself.

A trail of blood and entrails. A severed body to his right, torso slumped over and legs left unable to stand several feet away. More bodies. Blood on the walls. He hears the screams in the Force of those who perished. He listens and tries to understand.

Two doorways lie open at the end of the hallway. Their doors are shattered. Nobody remains in the cells.

"My Lord?" the officer says.

Ben kneels down and rests his gloved hand on the head of a dead body. He searches in the Force for a spirit, the echo of final words. He stands and turns to the officer.

"How many were on duty?"

"Twelve."

"There are only eight bodies here. Where are the others?"

"They were—"

Ben reaches out and rips into the officer’s mind. He senses the man’s terror, his resentment, the smoldering embers of anger that his status will be lost, that the Emperor has sold them astray. The guards left their posts. They are missing. The officer knows this and said nothing. Ben drops his unconscious body to the ground and turns to the few left standing. The stench of perspiration mixes with the sweet smell of charred and decomposing flesh. He does not need to read their minds any longer.

"If you wish to ally with Hux leave now. Tell your men. I will spare no one."

The officers stare at him, unblinking. Ben stalks past, the Force pushing them aside and keeping them pinned to the walls. He stalks the palace as a ghost, his power screaming for blood and vengeance, the darkest parts of himself insatiable, longing. He hears voices of betrayal in all the spirits now, smug and condescending, Snoke’s leer and unpleasant _I told you so_.

You have failed, Ben Solo.

He stalks to the heart of the great structure, the enclosed block that holds the poison in its heart. His hands press to cold stone walls. There is no door, no visible way in or out. This heart is sealed forever. He feels for a heartbeat. There is blood and there is life. Dark and constant. Sleeping. The buzz and whir of droids. Mechanical bellows. An empty vessel. Inert piece of flesh. You have not left me, brother. You have not left me yet.

He walks fully visible now. First Order soldiers run in formations. The word is out. Are they loyal or are they leaving? All turn away from him. Only fear. It drives everybody’s emotions. Only self-preservation. Do what you must do to live.

He enters the knights’ barracks. Other than the pirate queen living off a room by the kitchens, only one other remains. The rest are gone. No trace but three empty tankards on a table. One lies tipped over and cracked. Anemic stains of ale. The Force shows him where they all stood. Scratchy and flickering images like damaged holovids. The Force is with him and he is one with the Force. This is all there is. Where are you, brother?

In Malaak’s room, he sleeps, tucked into bed, his boots removed, though the rest of his uniform is still on. Ben reaches out. The Force is keeping him under and something else too. Sedating drugs in his system. He will remember nothing when he wakes, know nothing of his brothers’ betrayal. Ben leaves him to his bliss.

He is alone now. He is the beast they all fear. He is the king and the fallen son. He is the outcast, the unwanted. The monster they all pray to, bow in supplication. Do not kill me, they plead. Let me live. Let me be.

Ben sees no point in mercy. I only wanted peace. But you have chosen this. I will give you what you seek. Are you ready, my brothers? Are you happy, Hux? You cannot hide from me. I will find you and I will show you the Dark side, not the Sith, not any of your foolish notions.

I will bring Death upon your door and you will welcome me in.

* * *

"Why did you call me?"

Ben stands at the head of a long table. The bunker walls are curved and merge into the arch of the ceiling overhead. The walls are unpolished stone. It is a cave as all the others, though fitted with electrical lights that illuminate enough to give the impression of a mine. He is searching, not for minerals but for something else. The holoscreens are blank and communications are down. No one knows he has come here. He needs the shields, the protection from the Force, to be alone in his mind.

He is not alone.

"Ben?"

He stares at his mother. She sits in a high-backed chair, appearing small, though she fills it as a throne. Even in her nightclothes, a thick robe, her hair in a long braid he had seen her prepare so many times before bed as a boy. He would sometimes braid it for her. His fingers flex. He stands and paces with so many voices inside his head, all his own, the echo of memories, the song of too many mistakes.

"Tell me why I am here," she says.

I am afraid.

(He does not say this.)

I am betrayed. I am abandoned once again.

I am scared for the future, for all I have worked for. I am terrified for my wife.

He stops before her. His small mother cranes her neck to look up at him, wondering how he has grown so tall, all the changes to his body she was not witness for, scars she can and cannot see. How he looks like his father, has eyes like hers, is something unlike either of them.

How he wishes he could not read her thoughts.

"I need your help," he says.

"My help?"

"My knights have turned against me. They have aligned with Hux. They broke him out of jail."

"But he was arrested only yesterday."

"I trained them well."

" _You_ trained them?"

"Luke could not. I tried—"

"Why do you think I can help?"

Ben pulls out a chair and takes a seat before his mother. They are equals now. (But could he kneel and place his head in her lap? Would she stroke his hair? Would she hum the melody that let him sleep and held all his nightmares at bay?)

"Because I need the advice of a general."

* * *

I am your mother first, she thinks. I will always be your mother.

It still shocks her every time she sees him now, to see the child she carried and nursed and loved transformed into a man. Without the gradual changes, the subtle shifts that never register while a long metamorphosis is underfoot, the familiar of seeing the same person every day, this final visage of adulthood feels so remote from who she loved. But she sees the strong lines of Han and the deep eyes that belong to her and her mother and the luscious dark hair that might be a mutation, an evolution from before; he is a beautiful man, her son, even with the ears that she adored but he loathed. She loves all his features.

As he stabbed her through the Force when he killed his father and he shattered her heart as he swooped menacingly past her ship, sent a missile that would wish her dead, as he stood on the brink of insanity as he made her his prisoner, threatened her life for his latest obsession, a scavenger girl—as he did all these things, this terrifying stranger she gave life to, she knew she loved him still.

A man she does not know or recognize but he feels like her son again. He needs her help and she cannot refuse him, not for peace or the good of the galaxy but because she cannot give up on him or risk failing him again.

I am sorry, she thinks. I am not just a general.

"Okay," she says because she can still fill this role—military leader, politician, rebel fighter. "You better bring me up to speed."

"I was alerted only three hours ago. The prison staff were either killed or fled due to an allegiance to Hux. A First Order freighter was used to leave the planet and still logged as a routine trip."

"What was the strategy for the coup?"

"Amassing decommissioned ships."

"How many?"

"Three star destroyers and a large supply of weaponry."

"That all?"

Ben graces her with the same expression she uses when sarcasm is coiled upon her tongue but cannot be unleashed. "There is more."

She nods and waits for him to continue. How bad can it be?

"Shortly before I requested this meeting I was informed that one third of the fleet has gone."

"Gone," Leia repeats. "Gone where?"

"With Hux," her son says.

"Then we are at war."

"I will not let it get that far."

"How?"

His lips press tight together and then purse and she knows this face. Her darling boy. "I will hunt them down."

"Sure you will." She smiles. "You might be a one-man army but even this is too much for you."

They pull up maps on the holoscreens and review last known positions and likely destinations. They both agree Hux’s forces are holed up in the Unknown Regions, which doesn’t really narrow things down.

"What about the other knight?" she says. "The one you exiled? Is he involved?"

Leia feels something dark in the Force, a deep and festering wound. "No," Ben says.

"Okay. So, have you told your wife anything or did you need to see your mother first?"

The contemptuous look she receives might be her biological father’s, if only based on the few holoimages she has seen.

"What?" She shrugs innocently. "You’ve not told Rey yet?"

"I did not want to wake her."

"You don’t want her to talk you out of the crazy plan you have."

"She will either want to come with me or wish me to stay. Our separation will distress her."

"So why put her through it?"

Her son looks so resigned now, older that his almost thirty years. The whole galaxy rests on his broad shoulders. "It is for her," he says.

She is impressed by his love and terrified by it too. He is fierce and violent in what he cherishes; hot blood runs through his heart. To be loved by Ben Organa Solo is to be consumed.

"Talk to her, Ben, please. You are not alone in this."

"I asked you here for strategic advice. If I need input of a marital nature, you would be the last person I would turn to."

"Low blow. If understandable. But you can learn by our mistakes. Me and Han, we yelled a lot but communicated little."

"I know how to speak to my wife."

"Do you?"

"Mother."

Leia sighs. She sits back down. She untangles and rebraids the long length of her hair, feels her son’s eyes upon her. "I had thought about what it would be like if you got married while you were still a boy. To have a daughter."

"You wanted a girl?"

"You could have fallen in love with a boy or a Hutt. I never knew what you thought. But there were things I wanted to share."

"Like what?"

"It doesn’t matter now." The closets filled with Padme’s dresses. The traditions of Alderaan. The feminine parts of her nature that lie in storage or are lost to history. Another dream left to languish for this greater good. "At least I might still live to see a grandchild."

Ben’s hand forms a fist and she thinks he might hit the wall again, smash the table, strike her. He looks away. He looks so sad.

"Ben?"

"We cannot have children."

"You mean Rey?"

" _We_ cannot. It is not in our future and it is not what is important to me."

"You love her," Leia says. She knew this already but not in this selfless way, the revelation of his kind and tender heart.

"Do not ask me to prove it." The scar on your face. The weight of the galaxy you hold. I know, Ben. I can see it.

"Ignore me. Your mother is a sentimental fool."

"And a liar."

"Fine. Okay." Did her son almost smile? "But I still think you need to work on your plan."

* * *

Dawn has barely broken when Ben enters their rooms. He is dressed in full regalia, face drawn and pale, eyes so haunted. Shadows circle underneath and he looks like a phantom, something frightening and beautiful. Rey runs to him.

"What is happening? Where were you?"

She throws her arms around him and he holds her just as tight, just as desperate. His soul is heavy, burdened by something dark and deep. She can feel this even though they are not connected, knows him well enough, how the Force flows like a violent storm around him.

This is black as night, impenetrable as the furthest, most unchartered parts of space.

"My love?"

He holds her and breathes her in, breathes enough that she feels the great racking of his body.

"Come." He takes her hand and leads her to sit upon a sofa. He does not sit beside her; he kneels. His head bows and comes to rest on her lap and she strokes his hair, brushes his cheek. She must comfort him for this terrible hurt she does not know.

But he tells her.

Hux is gone and all his brothers. Only Malaak left. And the fleet cut by a third. One in three who were not loyal to him, to this new galaxy they have worked so hard far. He tried and he failed and he is tired. He is sorry. He is scared for her.

"You did not fail," she says. "And you are not alone in this."

"I will bring war to them."

"Ben, we—"

He looks up, his huge body curled around her knees, arms about her waist. "I must fight them alone."

"No."

"You can rule here. Rey, I need you—"

"I need you, you selfish fool!" She tries to pull away from him but she is trapped. "Let me go!"

He does. She stands and paces. He does not get up, sits slumped against the sofa.

"You want to leave me," she says.

"Someone has to stay and lead the Empire. To oversee the peace."

"I have a say. You cannot impose this. You cannot make—"

"No, I cannot. But if anything should happen—"

"Ben!" She is on her knees beside him. "Please do not do this." She holds his sad face, kisses him on the cheek, the mouth, the forehead. "Do not leave me."

"I never will." He pulls her into his lap and takes her arm, finding the scar left from the night they were wed. "You have my blood, remember?" A gloved finger traces the faint white line. "We are one."

"I cannot do this."

"Yes you can. You are strong. Stronger than me."

"I will not forgive you."

"I shall love you still."

"It is not fair."

"No. It is not what I want."

They hold each other as the light bathes the room and all the shadows flee. There is nowhere they can hide from today.

"I am afraid," Rey says, face pressed to his throat, drunk on his scent so that the words flow freely, "if you go, I will never see you again."

"There is nothing that will keep me from finding you."

She remembers his words and his face as he gave himself to Plagueis and she thought she had lost him for good.

_I will always find you._

Rey wants to believe this. Safe in his arms once again, she does not tell her husband of her dream that she fears is coming true.


	45. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Remember how I said that we still had a third act left? And that said third act might be more batshit than anything that has happened so far? Here we go.

"Where peace  
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes  
That comes to all."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

The folly of hope is that it leads to more dangerous things. You come to have expectations, to exist with dreams. You need them as sustenance to keep you going. You tell yourself the same lie every day and you come to believe it. Sometimes—the worst times—the dream comes true. Rey is not alone anymore. She will never be alone. She is loved and she belongs. Hope. How she hopes for so many things. But her husband must go.

It’s three days before he leaves. They try to talk but she cannot look in his eyes, cannot hear his voice without thinking it will be for the last time; he is the lie she came to have faith in, like her parents who never returned. Plans are made. He insists on a coronation. She wears a dress of woven gold and puts on the crown that holds the stones he gave her by a lava lake on Mustafar. She wonders about her garden there. Can it survive without her? Can anything live without love or attention? Isn’t she (isn’t he) the physical proof?

The ceremony is hollow. She says nothing. Ben makes a speech, grand for him, in not many words. Her Resistance friends and all the members of the nascent senate and the court and the wavering soldiers who are left (who Ben lies awake every night meditating in the Force to understand their loyalty) are lined up before their peasant queen. Isn’t that what she is? Who will listen to her?

The night before he leaves, they do not speak at all.

In the morning they dress like strangers, uniforms that tell the universe something else. Her husband is a warrior clad in black and she is the usurper. He offers her his arm and they walk through the palace together to the large landing space where his ships are gathered. The Emperor bows to his people and Rey watches him go, watches him disappear inside the black hawk of his personal craft, folded wings that are ready to spread out and take him far away from her.

The ships take off in formation. Rey stands like a statue. She does not cry. She does not look away. She has been here before but she was a child back then. She is a woman now. An empress. A battle-hardened soldier.

"My Lady?"

The court all look to her. The entire galaxy awaits her word. You are strong, Ben said. Stronger than me. Another lie she is sure.

"Please—" she tells them, "just call me Rey."

* * *

Weeks pass. She cuts her hair and changes her clothes. Selena crafts pants and tunics in muted grays and browns and Rey feels more herself, less an imposter. If she could pass in rags she would but it would be a step too far for the propriety of the court. She keeps Luke’s lightsaber on her at all times and the broken part of another in a drawer she never opens. The Emperor possesses the other half—the only gift she had to offer, conveying words she could not speak. He is gone but she feels his shadow everywhere. She inhabits his spaces, she commands his people. She sits behind his large desk and she listens; she learns.

She comes to rely on many others. Princess Isolde is a constant companion, a column of strength and wisdom that seems to hold the entire palace up. She is the beauty and royal bearing that Rey is not; the link to tradition and rights of birth that put the courtiers at ease, all while concealing a formidable intellect that Rey comes to respect. Between them they form a kind of complete empress; Rey confesses this one night and the princess laughs in understanding, in how even though things have turned out differently, they are not so different after all. She confides to Rey to call her Elsa, like a special gift, a sacred secret, and she stays by Rey’s side and they confer over what they are told. You are my Confessor, Rey thinks, and with her power, she makes it so.

Malaak is her protector. She is not without the Imperial guard and a troop of former stormtroopers the tattooed knight has trained as part of the fledgling galactic police. It is the Emperor’s will, he always insists, but he is her friend as much as Ben's now and also her training partner. They spar in the early mornings and sometimes Elsa watches them. The princess and the knight are lovers, and Malaak resides in the red quarters. Rey does not miss that place but she misses her love. The looks and touches she sees the two share sting more than any lightsaber burn. She is vicious in her sparring and Malaak never holds back. Her dear friend and drinking buddy. Maz as well and sometimes Leia. She has a family. So many people. Yet the one she wants most is gone.

Finn works hard at converting former stormtroopers. He even helped Ben decide which ones he could trust to take on his mission. It seems all those loyal to Hux left in the immediate aftermath of when he did. But Rey learns not to be complacent. She talks to Leia over strategy and sometimes joins her in the war bunker. Ben sends his plans and intelligence and any advances he has made. He and Leia are in regular discussion and the bond between mother and son, between keen military leaders, makes Rey feel left on the outside. She and Ben do not talk that much.

Rose has technical expertise that Rey is in awe of. She devises a way to modify irrigation pumps into water purifiers that are sent to a Mid Rim planet suffering from a devastating drought. There is so much suffering in the universe, Rey discovers. Not just the ravages of war but insidious, eternal plagues of poverty and greed and hunger. So much need. So many lost children. She fights hard to create schools, to banish the endemic scourge of slavery, to make sure resources can reach as many as possible, that people can survive on their own, not just survive but flourish and live.

People don’t like her, and they don’t trust her judgment. She gets in a heated exchange with Cescan Wylde over the ongoing arms trade that ends with her pulling on the Dark side. It would be so easy to crush his throat, to pick his pudgy body up and break it against the nearest wall. Rey resists. She thinks of Ben’s words, of his face, of the calm he exudes around her. A Dark sider that can do good. We are more than our parts. _I am better than this._ She thinks there are lessons her husband was always teaching her as if he somehow knew she was destined for this role.

She does not think she is a natural leader but some people listen. Children come as emissaries, embellished gimmicks for the coming of the senate. But they smile in her presence. They laugh and she lets them play. She gives her time to a group of old women forced from their village due to industrial expansion and she pulls all the factories down (this is the beginning of her growing rift with Wylde). She is called sentimental, naïve, a foolish child. She cries in public at news of any tragedy but never in private for herself. Less than two months into her leadership the first terrorist attack hits, close to the new senate building. What is destroyed is a local market. Rey goes to the site after hearing the explosion surrounded by guards and police but she kneels by the injured and she heals who she can. People start to call her a hero, the people’s queen, the downtrodden’s empress.

I am Rey, just call me Rey, she insists.

* * *

The inauguration of the senate is planned for the date that the Galactic Concordance was signed. It is Leia’s doing and Rey asks to understand what it means, why it is important. Symbolism, Leia tells her. It is also the Emperor’s birthday, which Rey did not know.

They speak the night before the inauguration. Ben appears as a hologram inside their rooms. She can see the glow of magma upon the mountains behind him. He is on Mustafar.

"How is it without me?" she says.

"Unbearable."

She should smile but her heart aches, is cracked like the split lightsaber she keeps. This is your doing, she thinks. I do not forgive you.

"Happy birthday," she says. Her husband is going to turn thirty. She is nineteen or twenty, she does not know which.

"My mother has grown predictable," he sighs then he asks of the security plans for the ceremony, will she be safe, has she written a speech, and she answers him with the practiced guile of a politician.

"Rey." He smiles.

"What?"

"You are good at this."

It makes her mad. She wants to break the comm link, to break his face. I will never forgive you.

"Tell me about my garden," she says.

"It is beautiful."

It waits for you, he does not say, but explains how he is communing with the Dark side, scanning the galaxy for his lost brothers. They remain hidden, and somehow the waiting threat is worse than any outright war they could wage. There have been skirmishes with Hux’s forces but the main mass of the fleet is yet to be found. Sympathetic pockets exist and he knows they are behind the terrorist attacks throughout the Core Worlds that are growing in frequency. Still there is no way to predict them, only to brace for the carnage that she will inevitably have to clean up.

"They will not win by fear," her husband tells her. "You give the people hope."

Hope? She wants to scream. Hope is a poison. It ruins you. Look at me.

"Sleep. Rest before tomorrow. I love you," he says.

"I know." She ends the call and does not sleep more than a couple of hours before the dawn.

* * *

The inauguration runs smoothly and her speech is accepted, delivered with slight awkwardness but warm words and a true heart and this is what seems to win people over. Rey hates talking. She grows bored of words. She wishes she could fight every day, at her husband’s side. Who else can protect him? Who else is as strong as him but she?

There is a gala afterwards and she still won’t wear a dress. Selena makes her a silver tunic suit with a sash and she wears her lightsaber and slouches on her throne. Maz brings her lots to drink and Leia shares a quiet toast for Ben’s birthday and Rey wants to cry. This is the worst thing.

"My Lady?"

"Dammit Elsa, call me Rey."

The princess smiles. "Rey, may I be excused?"

She looks pale and Rey insists she go with her. "I will walk you to your rooms."

Malaak is busy overseeing security and she does not want to worry him. The princess holds Rey’s arm as they are escorted by the Imperial guards and once inside her chambers, rushes to the refresher. Rey can hear her being sick.

"Elsa, what is it?" She kneels beside her friend and holds back her hair, brings a glass of water and presses a cold cloth to her face. "What is wrong?"

"It is nothing."

And then Rey knows.

The whispers of the palace wives, the way she had felt and all Ben’s worry. The cold yet warm hands of a blind healer clasping her hips to prove she was barren. The odd tentative flicker in the Force that she feels now.

"Elsa, have you told Malaak?"

"No."

She allows Rey to call for a med droid, who takes her vitals and a small sample of blood. The results are instantaneous. "You are pregnant. Hormone levels suggest between eight and ten weeks gestation."

Elsa nods, collapsing on the bed, and Rey programs the droid to forget what it just did.

"So what now?" Rey says.

"Nothing has changed. I am still your Confessor."

"Okay." Rey lies down beside her and they face each other. "Are you afraid?" she says.

"No." Elsa strokes her cheek, tucking hair that now barely reaches her chin behind an ear. "You have shown me how to be brave."

It is Rey that curls against Elsa, drawn to the heat and comfort of another, and they fall asleep together. Malaak is sleeping on a sofa in the living area when they both wake.

Rey doesn’t stay for breakfast. She goes back to her rooms. She changes and showers and gathers the day’s datapads atop her bed as food and caf is brought in by the usual droid. She waits until it leaves and then takes a knife and finds the spot on the wall behind her husband’s side of the bed. She adds another mark for the new day. Each one for how long since he has left her. (One hundred and seventy-eight days.) There was no need before when he was here and she had her home. There was nothing left to wait for but now she must wait again.

She goes to the reception rooms where she works and Elsa is already present. She looks rested and back to her usual color.

"My—Rey," she says and smiles at her mistake.

"My Elsa," Rey says. They laugh. "You are glowing."

"That is a cliché."

"Have you told him?"

"Yes."

"And he is happy?"

"You could say so." Here she blushes. Rey sits beside her and they get to work.

The morning sickness returns and chooses other times of day but Elsa does not complain. She works harder than ever and Rey does not make excuses, does not go easy on her. It passes in a month and Elsa’s body slowly changes. Rey wonders how it must feel. She examines her emotions carefully. She is not jealous, merely sad. There is only emptiness inside her, she who can create life from nothing. It is a strange irony that she accepts.

But still, she is her own person. You do not need to be whole simply to be. And she is never alone.

Leia is her mother and Maz is her conspirator and Elsa is her eyes and ears and Rose is a sister and Finn is her brother and there is Poe, who talks with her of X-wings and other ships and what he hears from BB-8, and Malaak, who pushes and challenges and comforts and keeps her safe, and Selena, a soul and her conscience. All these parts of her being. Who needs a heart with such things?

"My Lady?"

Selena never calls her Rey. She comes to her quarters to show some recent designs but Rey asks her to make dresses for the princess instead, to hide the evidence of her growing child.

"As you wish," Selena says, and she sits beside Rey and takes her hand. "How are you?"

"I am well."

"You do not have to lie to me."

Rey looks at her friend and feels the hole where her heart should be and the ocean she tries to keep at bay behind a dam of denial and constant work and the lies that she tells herself every day. But water rushes out and she cries. She wails. Her friend, her first true friend here, holds her tight and is not washed away.

"It is okay, it is okay," Selena whispers and holds Rey close, like a child, and Rey can breathe again. She can think. She can push the ocean back to where it came.

Ben does not call her that night like he said he would. (The space between each contact has been growing like the distance between them. His missions grow more dangerous and so he tells her less of their details. She asks less questions. She relies on Leia. She imagines their universes are separate, in parallel now. It does not matter what either of them are doing.)  
  
Ben calls so rarely now that Rey pays his silence no mind. But late the next day Leia storms into her office and, in a low and frightened voice, says, "I cannot feel him!"

She sits in a chair Elsa fetches and Rey watches as she rocks back and forth. "There is no message. I tried. He did not call in with his latest position and his fleet will not respond."

"I am sure—" Elsa is rubbing Leia’s back but her eyes fall on Rey. Rey stands.

She is aware of her husband’s presence that resides in the Force. It is not like when they were bonded, as if he were living inside her, but more the quiet constant of a heartbeat or a breath, the intermittent reminder of unconsciously blinking. He is there. He is always there somewhere. But as she tries to feel, there is nothing to be found.

A wave of panic threatens to engulf her; she pushes it away, achieving the kind of Jedi calm that would make Luke proud. She ignores everything around her. She shuts it out and enters another world entirely. She reaches out with all she is, with her mind, her very soul, invisible fingers stretching across the universe, intent on finding the one she holds most dear. She hears voices, whispers of dark energy that send ice down her spine. Ancient, primal things best left undisturbed. Like the palace of Ben's memories, she walks past locked rooms, intent on her search. She can find him, she will always find him, she only has to look hard enough. The galaxy is but a maze of corridors and she races down each one until she hears a voice—dark and beautiful and soothing.

Yes, she thinks, I've found you. I've got you.

She stretches to reach it. Strong arms encircle her, an embrace she has missed for so long. I've got you, my heart. I love you. I am sorry.

Through the Force he holds her tight. A deep, heavy heartbeat. Let me see your face. She knows that he is not really there and neither is she but if she can just see him, if she can just know…

Arms begin to materialize. Shoulders, proud and broad. His neck, his face; a pair of ice-blue eyes.

The wrong face. The wrong man.

Rey can see him smile.

* * *

She wakes lying on the floor, Leia kneeling beside her and Elsa standing frozen and Malaak bellowing orders in a voice that shakes the walls.

"Everyone out!"

Leia shakes her by the shoulders. "What did you see? What of my son?"

"Out!" Malaak yells and then he calms. "You will leave this room so the Lady Rey and I can speak. " The Force washes over Leia, instinctual and so natural in its powers, but she repeats the words and goes, Elsa following behind her.

The Empress and her last knight are alone.

"My Lady," he lifts her to her feet, “are you injured?"

Rey cannot speak.

"You said a name," he continues. "You said his name, you said—"

"Alec."

Malaak is holding her up. "You saw him," he says.

"I saw him."

"And he spoke to you?"

"Yes."

He looks at her as if the worlds no longer make sense. "That is not possible."

"It happened," Rey says, growing angry. "I saw him. Just as I'm seeing you now."

Malaak's face turns ashen. She has never seen the terrifying knight show even an ounce of fear. "That," he says again, "Is. Not. Possible."

"Why?"

He falls silent.

"Malaak, what do you know?"

He shakes his head.

"Tell me!"

"It was the Emperor’s order. You were never to know. I promised on pain of death—"

He does not finish, for Rey has frozen him in place. She holds her dear friend like a limp ragdoll, helpless to her superior power, and the Darkness inside her is so palpable she can taste it. In the space of a heartbeat she slices into his mind, sifting through memories, casting aside warm thoughts of Elsa and their growing child, tossing them out like refuse to get to what she seeks, what is buried deeper, to those memories that are contaminated with Ben's scent. She stands in this very room as Ben gives his order. _My wife can never know._ She watches Malaak seal the vault closed. A tomb for his brother. A location she has never been to. A place she has no knowledge of.

Buried here, inside the palace. Trapped forever. Awaiting death.

She releases Malaak and he crumples to the ground, barely conscious, blood running from his nose.

"My husband failed," she hisses, her rage overcoming any remorse. She is suffocating on their betrayal and the room vibrates with her anger. "You lied to me, and yet you still failed."

Malaak is propped up on one elbow. "We have not." He reaches into his tunic and pulls out a small glowing tracker. "This is connected to the med droid. If Alec should awaken, I would know it."

"He is awake right now!"

Rey is gone before he can respond. She is running down passages, guided by knowledge that is not her own to a part of the palace she has never been, Malaak's labored breaths and heavy steps sounding in her wake.

At last, she finds it. A corridor that ends in just a wall. Through windows she can see a courtyard and a building beyond that appears suspended in the air, connected to nothing. A cube of dark gray like the wall she stands before.

"Open it," she says without looking behind her. She can feel Malaak's posture stiffen through the Force.

"My Lady, I am under orders—"

She presses her hand to the wall and feels a shock of the Force flow through her. She concentrates, and it concentrates too. It becomes hard to breathe. The drip of sweat along her neck and growing sticky beneath her arms. So much heat. She groans and strains, struggling against this wall, like fighting Ben for that wretched saber. Malaak moves to help or stop her—she does not know which, doesn't bother finding out—and she tosses him back down the corridor. She pushes with all she has and something gives. Cracks appear beneath her fingertips, spreading out like a splinter, like a dried river bed. The cracks grow and Rey steps back. The wall shatters but she holds all the shards and discards them with a flick of her wrist.

Inside, the room shines brightly. All is white and pure. She is blinded as she walks. She sees the colors change beneath her feet into green and gold and silver and purple and black. A huge throne of the same crystal stands in the center of the room but the noise of droids is what calls her. She turns.

In the corner is a bed, the cold sterile white of a medical pod cast in sterile white light. Machines buzz and blink and whir around it, two droids checking readings and the flow of liquid in tubes and the pump of oxygen.

Liquid and gas to keep a body alive. A body lies upon the bed. She can see the outline of feet and legs beneath a white sheet. A pale hand and arm, all the tubes pouring in. The thickest one twisting up to the head and connected to a mouth. The torso moves up and down, breathes in and out in time with the machine. Thin with prominent ribs. A beautiful face of porcelain. Blond hair. All is beautiful on this sleeping creature. How at peace he is.

How can you speak to me, she thinks. How can I still hear you like this?

Rey moves closer. Colors bleed beneath her. So much blackness now, a viscous oil that fills up everything. The crystal cracks with every footstep she takes.

She looks down upon the lovely face. And now she understands. The young one, the jealous one; the one who loved him so.

The man lying in the bed is Pular.

She hears the incredulous roar of Malaak, but the sound fades to nothing as another voice winds its way through her blood. Clear as song, strong as fire. A seductive purr curling in her ear. How she can feel him. Cradled in his arms. The monster of her dreams.

"My love," Alec says. "Did you miss me?"


	46. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y'all… I am back on my bullshit ~~and it feels so good~~. Please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times until the ride comes to a full and complete stop.

"See with what heat these Dogs of Hell advance  
To waste and havoc yonder World"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

**_Six months earlier_ **

Alec wakes in a bright room. Too bright, he thinks; his re-pigmented eyes are screaming in distress and so he closes them again. His last memory was kissing Ben and then meeting Ben's fist as his brother's rage sent Alec back into oblivion. He was destined to die, to live out his life an unconscious shell so as not to disturb the status quo. He should not be awake.

And yet, he is.

"Coffee?"

The voice is familiar. Confident and faux-patrician, it oozes like rancid honey.

"You again?" The use of his own voice takes more effort than Alec would like to admit.

Hux smiles as if he knows this, and Alec knows this because he can now see him. The lights have dimmed, and the redheaded general sits beside a full dram-porcelain coffee service much like he had at a similar meeting long ago.

"Am I a prisoner?" Alec says.

Hux pauses, then gives an incongruously delighted smile. "You're my guest."

Alec shifts, the movement made painful by weeks—months? he no longer has any concept of time—of muscle atrophy. After a futile attempt to raise his head, he lies back and stares at the metal ceiling. "This sounds like a story worth hearing."

"My dear Sir," Hux says, "I am but your humble servant. We are both fugitives from the crown, waging war with a stolen fleet, our goal being no less than the death of the Emperor himself." He shrugs. "That is, if you are interested."

Alec is fully awake now. Eyes straining against the light, he studies the other man intently. "Tell me more."

* * *

They are in the Unknown Regions, just outside the edge of the Matwan system, on a water planet with virtually no land. The creatures that inhabit this place are friendly, if unapproachable, but they allow Hux the use of their floating bases. It is here that he sees his brothers again. Ersn embraces him like a long-lost lover, and even Vadanav—cold, ruthless Vadanav—clasps him about the shoulders like he is the answer to some kind of prayer.

I am here, Alec tells them. But where are the others?

The first answer is of course the most obvious: The bastard beast Malaak has betrayed them for Ben Solo and the comfort of a flaxen-haired bitch, and Pular—soft, faithful Pular—volunteered to take Alec's place in that living tomb so that they might free him. Hearing of this causes a foreign swell of emotion in him, an odd sensation making it difficult to swallow. He has always been aware of Pular’s feelings for him, ignored them, played them down, mocked them; a foolish boy in love. A waste of time and talent (until love took over him.) There is loyalty now. And something like love as well. He mourns for the loss of his brother, for the sacrifice he has made. And he swears that he will come back for him. There is a day of reckoning coming, where the faithful will be counted and the faithless shall be cast into the fire.

This is Hux's plan as well.

He has salvaged nearly half of the First Order's resources and nearly a third of its people, wisely hiding them in the far reaches of the galaxy from which they were first born. Less than a week after Alec wakes, they receive word that the Emperor has mobilized his own fleet and is coming to hunt them down.

Let him, Alec thinks. The promise of such a battle is what keeps him alive.

Life itself, however, is difficult for one so newly resurrected, and the recovery is long and hard. There are endless days of training, nights spent in the bacta tank, hours lying on med tables while a droid inserts needles into each muscle and through which Alec receives a jolt of electrical current to return their tone. He welcomes the pain. It reminds him of the time spent on Moraband, an unhappy memory turned sweet with age, of the time spent in the presence and possession of Darth Bane. His master. His only real teacher. He thinks of the time spent with Ben and the other knights and wants to laugh at the childish simplicity of it all. There is no peace. There is only pain. (And through pain comes power.) The Sith were not savages, he realizes—and this was Ben's greatest mistake—they were not savages but brutally noble, unflinching in the honesty with which they saw the world. They saw creation in its corrupted form and swore to do better. Strength in victory. Salvation through the Force.

He communes with the spirits on Moraband, even though it is too dangerous for him to travel there himself. Great Lords who speak to him, who whisper to him like a mother. Bane no longer lives within him and there is a reason for that, the same reason that his eyes are no longer yellow, but Alec does not dwell on this; he does not think on _her_ , he keeps himself carefully hidden in the Force so that their bond is not rekindled.

It is not until many weeks later that he sees a holovid of her image. A mundane speech, the closing of a factory to save those who would otherwise be displaced. Her compassion carries an unpleasant stench but her face—her face—Alec cannot look away. Defiant in her Jedi rags, like the first day he saw her, the only difference being her hair worn loose and cropped to the edge of her chin. She stands in contrast to the cool and polished image of the Princess Isolde beside her. But the latter is a faded moon next to a blinding, brilliant sun. Alec stares at the vid he doesn't know for how long, and even Hux is silent. The acknowledgement of a loss maybe; the thirst for revenge. Ersn told him that he had sought to woo the princess before she revealed her traitorous intent.

But such grievances are not spoken of, and certainly not a part of their tactics. The campaign is one of classic guerilla warfare, not at all unlike their work together on Takodana and later on Endor, except now they are the rebels, the fugitives, those who must be one step ahead of their pursuers, who must sow distrust and misdirection in order to survive. The Emperor's armada patrols the edge of the Known Regions like a restless bird of prey. He knows they are out here, but the moment he ventures into uncharted space they would have the advantage. So instead the Emperor sends raiding parties, small bands of reconnaissance. Rumor has it he even leads some of the missions himself. But no matter. For the Unknown is vast and they are well hidden. Their base on the water planet (Kora, Alec later learns it is called), can be hidden entirely under its waves and the lifeforce signature of every being can be shielded by Alec himself. Such is his power now.

Months pass, and his body grows stronger. Ersn and Vadanav are brutal training partners and at first it seems that he will never fully recover from his imprisonment but the days spent communing with the Lords eventually give up their reward and he uses their wisdom to harness the Force and regenerate. Soon he is besting Vadanav easily and blocking out the mental attacks of Ersn. Soon his brothers regard him with fear and awe and Alec preens under their scrutiny like a beast who is king of its domain.

* * *

It is late one evening when Alec joins Hux on his flagship destroyer, the _Insurgent_. They are awaiting news of a series of coordinated attacks—bombings in public spaces timed to occur hours apart; the destruction is scheduled to begin in the core worlds and spread to the mid and outer rims. They have even set as one of the targets a destroyer within the Emperor's own fleet.

Alec takes a deep breath of recycled air and watches his general carefully. He senses no rebellion in Hux; merely an underling whose goals align with its master and who has learned its place. It is strange how well they work together, considering the mutual contempt they so long held each other in. But shared goals can erase a magnitude of sins, Alec finds, and it is the shared goal of order, of true power, that unites them now. Hux does not believe in the Force or the Sith but he preaches the same basic tenants—order through dominance, and security through strength. Ideals that dear brother Ben was too weak to embrace. Gods, even Snoke had a better understanding of the principals upon which their faith is founded.

They wait in silence until the middle of the table flickers to life. It is Mitaka, chief among Hux's commanders, his most trusted.

"Report," Hux says.

"We have achieved our objectives. Corellia, Utapau, the grand citadel on Naboo—"

"Excellent. And the Emperor's fleet?"

"The destroyer was critically injured, but life support is still operational. To attack further would be to give away our position."

"Agreed," Hux says. "Good work commander. Tell your men that we are one step closer to liberating the galaxy."

"Yes, sir." Mitaka's image sputters and goes out.

Alec looks to Hux. "It is not enough."

His general glowers, months of pent-up frustration leaking out through every pore on his face. "You think I don't know that? Where are your knights in battle, _my Lord_? Where is that glorious power of the Force coming to aid our cause? You could end this in a day and you know it."

"Not presently," Alec says. "Not until the balance is shifted."

"We have the Emperor in our territory. If we could lead him into the Unknown—"

"We could defeat him. Possibly," Alec adds. "But the cost would be too great. I would lose my knights and very likely be killed myself. The Emperor would die but our cause would not be achieved. There is still—"

"The Empress," Hux finishes, and Alec is thankful for the kindness of this interruption.

"Yes."

"We cannot fight on two fronts," Hux says. "We are only equipped for one theater of war, and that is only because of the disparate attacks Mitaka has carried out. I cannot invade Coruscant."

"I am not asking you to."

"What then?"

"As I said, we need to shift the balance."

"And exactly what does that mean? Don't talk your sorcerer's gibberish to me. Tell me plainly, what will win this war?"

Alec looks out the viewport to the stars beyond. He closes his eyes and sees the universe as a maze of corridors, a path to every living being in existence should he choose to step out of his concealment. It is tempting, but he will not give in, not yet.

"The folly of my brother wasn't his misuse of power," he explains to Hux. "It was his failure to embrace it. He possesses a weapon more deadly than ten dreadnaughts, but he will not use it."

Hux looks unenthused. "You speak of the Force," he mutters.

"In a way," Alec says. He thinks back to the day he spent with her, their last real day together. When she told him of her engagement. When he’d wanted to crush the memory of her beloved, to blot him out like a stain upon the floor. But that day, she also told him something else. A confession she did not mean to make.

"There is a power," Alec says softly, "something rare and ancient. The ability to control fate. To command whole armies, to decide who wins and who loses."

Hux scoffs. "There is no such power."

"I have witnessed it," Alec says. "I would not have believed myself had I not seen it."

"And the Emperor has this power?"

"Not the Emperor," Alec says. "The one who rules in his place."

"The _Jedi_?" Hux looks shocked. "But why wouldn't he simply bring her with him? Why wouldn't he—?"

"Because he does not think as a strategist, General. Not when it comes to her."

Alec can see Hux putting the pieces together. "So it is not necessary to invade Coruscant. All we need to do…"

"Is take her," Alec says, giving voice to what feels like a lifetime of dark fantasies.

"But that will not be easy." Hux is already plotting with this new knowledge gained. "She is well guarded. And at the first sign of distress, the Emperor will go to her."

"Which is why you must capture the Emperor."

Hux laughs. A full throated, soul-cleansing bellow that almost tempts Alec to join in. "Oh Magess," he wipes at his eyes, "truly, you are a delight. Pray tell how do I capture Kylo Ren? You yourself said it was uncertain whether or not you would be able to defeat him."

"I'm not talking about defeat," Alec says. "I just need him out of the way. You have resources. You once used them on me."

Alec waits for Hux to catch up. At last he sees the recognition dawn. "And your knights," Hux says, "I will need your knights."

"No. They will come with me. We will slip in and out like thieves and when we return—"

"You're sure of this," Hux examines him with pleading eyes, like a man scared to hope. "If we have her… we can win?"

"We will win," Alec says.

Hux smiles, the flash of white teeth vicious and cruel. When he bows his head, there is no mockery. "My Lord, I am but your humble servant."


	47. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello, dear friends, it's been a while. Welcome to the third act.

"Who shall tempt, with wand'ring feet  
The dark unbottomed infinite abyss"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

His heart is like a fist. He has held on too tightly and crushed all he loves inside it. Matter is compacted to coal, to diamond. An empty jewel inside his chest, it does not pump blood. He is not a living thing but the master of death. A destroyer. He destroys everything that he touches.

He remembers her body beside him on their last night together, how she accepted his mouth and his hands, how she let him inside her. She let him hold on until he could not. She let him let go. She gave him one half of a broken lightsaber as a promise. This would not be goodbye. But maybe it was. This was her telling him that her heart was broken in two.

His heart is in pieces. The shattered shards of a jewel. He carries the fractured half of the lightsaber into every battle. Most are quiet, covert affairs. Excursions to unchartered moons and planets where whispers of intelligence lie. He paints his face in black, disappearing with the rest of his body into the shadows. His chosen soldiers follow him. He has trained them for this, selected those with the darkest, most damaged souls. Former stormtroopers with nothing to lose, just a wish to see their enemies die, to have revenge on their tormenters.

Children just like him. He is their father now and they would slice their own throats if he asked them to.

The missions are not always successful. Some are boring and a waste of time, nothing learned, just a distraction, a diversion, because his enemy is smart. He will not underestimate them, even Hux—especially Hux—his brothers, too. He knows of where the First Order was born, a silent and subtle reaction to the fall of the last great empire. Hux’s father and grandfather, men who wished to see strict order returned, who planted the seed of fear throughout the whole galaxy with bombs and massacres and civil wars. Who wrought chaos and claimed to offer the cure. Their descendants bring chaos now and give only one solution: Kylo Ren must go. The senate must die. Might and power. Not the weak will of this boy. A foolish man-child.

They hate the Empress. He reads intelligence reports, intercepted missives and public declarations on the holonet. All she does to heal and show compassion and give the people the hope of peace. It is a poison, they say. It must be stopped. She is out of her depth. Abandoned by her husband. Where is the true leader?

They are scared of her, he understands, and this gives Ben everything he needs.

* * *

He argues with his mother. She is cautious mostly but insists that he should risk part of his fleet to lure Hux and his fellow traitors out. Ben is not ready. He does not know enough. He thinks of how Rey would perceive him, to hear how he could sacrifice innocent lives for the flimsy chance of victory. Does he make her proud? Does she worry? Each time they talk, he feels the distance growing. The Force diminishes around her. She does not let him in.

He wants to touch her. He wants to hold her in their bed. He misses her weight in his arms, waking up to her image, her scent. Sharing breakfast and hearing her talk of her plans for the day. Watching her dress. Seeing her smile. The sound of her laughter. The warmth of her heart. Her Light that blinds him.

He sees her change in the holovids of the speeches she makes. She cuts her hair. She dresses like a Jedi. He sees her becoming what she was meant to be. She is magnificent. She does not need him like he needs her, but he has accepted that. He has pulverized the sacred connection they shared. He has lied to and betrayed her. He held on too hard.

* * *

The senate is to be inaugurated on his birthday. His mother’s idea of a joke. The reminder of how he was born in the shadow of her work, politics and war and rebellion her favored children over him. He is thirty now. A boy in some ways and an old man in many others. He calls his wife and she talks to him as a stranger. He resides for a time in his grandfather’s castle, emerging from long hours meditating in the Force, replenished by its Darkness. Still, he cannot sense his brothers. The Force plays games with him. Something is wrong, but he does not tell her this for she does not ask him. She answers his questions about her security; she gives him this much and he is satisfied that physically she is safe. But he feels her loneliness as he feels it in him. The worst gift you can bestow upon Rey is abandonment and he has drowned her in it.

I am sorry, he thinks. I love you, he says.

I know, she says. Does she? It is not enough. It never is; how he knows this.

Six months they have been apart. Six months that the fist in his chest tightens to the point it cannot be unfurled. Make use of it, he thinks. Turn the anger and the pain into your power. It sounds like something Snoke would say. It echoes with the Sith. Ben is Dark. He is Kylo Ren. Jedi killer. Monster. He wants to be all those things they fear. He can be stronger than Darth Vader for he has nothing left to lose.

Not true, another voice says. It belongs to his father. Ben pounds his wounds.

The attack on the destroyer kills some of his best troops. Ben is still on board. He suspects Hux’s men did not know this, only hoping to send a message before they could retreat without giving away their location. They got lucky, luckier than they know. But Ben got lucky too. He stays to lead the evacuation. He carries the injured. He ends the lives of those beyond hope. One soldier, a woman with dark hair and sad eyes—LK3965 but she knew her birth name, Galla Fey; _call me Fey, my Lord_ ; how she looked like Rey—dies in his arms before he can do anything. She fought in all his missions. She was brave and loyal. She squeezes his hand and tells him that she has done her duty. Though mortally wounded, she still had the presence of mind to launch a targeting missile that implanted a tracking device on one of Hux’s ships. "Tied on the end of a string," she says with the last breath she draws, and Ben is lost to a vision that it is his wife’s body he holds. Fey is given a hero’s funeral the next day.

"We can hide away no longer," he tells Leia, bacta pack pressed to a burn on his shoulder. He can still smell his comrades’ blood, can still hear their cries as he sought their peace in the Force. "I will finish this."

"They will be expecting you."

"I know."

He feels how his mother’s eyes study his scarred torso. Concern and regret. He does not need her remorse or her pity right now.

"Will you tell Rey—?" he begins.

"What can’t you tell her yourself?"

Everything, he thinks. His best friend. His confidant. He has given up the person he holds most dear and the galaxy will burn and he will die a traitor, the destroyer of all that is good.

"I tried," he says. "Tell her I tried, and I was wrong."

"Ben—"

"I’ll call back once I have secured our position."

_Don’t do this, son._

His mother’s voice echoes in the bond that they share but the line is already dead.

* * *

The tracking device consists of the same tech used in the pursuit of the Resistance from D’Qar. It gives the element of surprise, but Ben’s fleet is dangerously crippled. He cannot face Hux without reinforcements. An order for more supplies and another battalion of stormtroopers is urgently conveyed to Malaak. The troopers are vetted by Finn and selected personally by his brother: those he trusts most and whom Ben trusts in turn. Though their transport is delayed by a day, plans remain on schedule and they are added to his flagship’s personal guard.

Within a week, preparations are over and the Emperor’s armada makes the several jumps through hyperspace that follow the trail of the tracker. They emerge in an unknown system well beyond the Outer Rim, only to find a single destroyer. It carries the scar of the targeting missile but no other ships can be found by sight or by scanner. They float in the orbit of a barren planet.

From the bridge of his flagship, Ben reaches out with the Force. All is quiet, a hollow echo like a vacuum. All is not right. He hears the silence in the minds of the men around him. Anticipation. Uncertainty. Let them know we are here, he orders. Warning shots are fired at the destroyer with no response. Tie fighters launch and land several direct hits, but the destroyer remains unmoved (though now more scarred).

What should we do? the men ask. Should they retreat? How long should they wait? Ben is tired. He has not slept in two cycles. Responsibility wraps around him, thick and heavy like a smothering blanket. He can only caution patience. An hour passes, then two. His analysts report back: there have been no communications, no traces of faster than light movement. The universe hangs poised on a knife’s edge, his men ready to fight with no enemy to face.

Ben decides to board the ship. An elite squadron is selected. He does not go with them but everything inside of him screams that he should. Instead, he watches from the bridge, relying on a live holovid feed from a camera secured to the squad sergeant’s helmet. He downs a vat of caf and four mens’ share of basic rations brought in by one of his new lieutenants as he waits for them to make contact. From the large screen he can see shoulders bounce, crammed close together in the transporter hold, a building thrum of tension. He can see only the backs of helmets, the tips of blasters. How they rattle, not from flight but from nerves. He can sense it. A headache starts. He sits down in the captain’s chair, wide as a throne, watching, the same as everyone else.

The ship docks, overriding the access codes (they have not changed from before Hux annexed a third of the fleet) to open the hatch to the landing dock. The transporter touches down. The sergeant’s voice can be heard telling the men to get ready, backs to the walls, bodies lowered, blasters armed. Everything is still and drenched in silence until the ramp slowly lowers.

Inside is dark. The holovid stream flickers into shadow until it is switched to night-vision mode. Bodies shimmer in negative image like ghosts. The men pile out, crouching down. Ben can make out the tip of the sergeant’s weapon and boots, glimpses of other troopers close by, the outline of tie fighters and other small ships. A skeleton destroyer. A floating wreck.

"Wait."

He sees something. A streak on the ground. Maybe oil?

"Can you—?"

"Fuck!"

The voice comes from close to the sergeant. A blaster fires and bathes the screen in phosphorous light. The sound of many rounds and voices shouting. There is nothing to see. All is too bright and loud. Ben stands. He almost staggers.

"Cease fire!"

The commanding voice of the sergeant. All is quiet again. Visuals return, honing in on a single soldier, helmet off, his mouth and eyes wide. "Did you see that?" he says. "Did you see that?"

"Sergeant, report," Ben says.

"I have two men on their way to the flight deck bridge. We should have power—"

The screen flashes white then black. Loud clicks. Bright lights. The hangar appears, fully formed. "My Lord, you need to see this," the sergeant says. The image moves around. Ships left in their docking bays. Scattered troopers. Red on the floor. A single hand, all on its own. A severed head. Body parts strung around, growing in number. Amassing in a pile close to the wall, spilling out from the mouth of an open transporter.

"Kriffing shit," a voice says, a whisper, low in awe.

The sergeant cuts in. "What’s that up there?"

The camera moves over and above the transporter. The silver-metal panels of the wall are streaked in blood too, not spread in random but forming words.

"Can you see this?" he says. "My Lord?"

All eyes are upon him, between the screen and him, and the message is clear. The penmanship too. The orgy of violence, dismembered limbs cauterized by lightsaber burns, something joyful and sadistic in the effort. His brothers’ work. His brothers’ words for him, an answer to a message that he sent what seems a lifetime ago:

_**LONG LIVE THE SUPREME LEADER** _

"Sir! Sir!"

The image changes. Ben blinks. Why is it blurred? The sergeant is moving, returning to the bodies.

"I know him!" a voice says. "We were in the same program back on Coruscant—"

"Pull out!" Ben says.

The sergeant relays the orders. Bodies running. Bodies unmoving. So many dead. Shots fired. "What are you doing?!" the sergeant yells. Blasters and screams. The camera turns as a blaster aims directly into its sight. A flash of red. The camera is falling to the ground. The image cuts out.

"My Lord?"

Ben looks around. The room is spinning. The faces, expectant faces, hover and divide, seeming to double. He presses a hand to his head. His headache grows as alarms sound and bright lights flash. It is so loud. Too loud.

"Enemy ships at twelve o’clock!"

Twenty destroyers materialize out of the void of space to join their fallen brother. Fallen brother, Ben thinks. Hux is come. Hux is here.  
  
"Arm the shields!" he yells, but the first wave strikes anyway. His ship is hit and he stumbles from the impact. He holds onto a console, his body disobeying his commands. I gave an order. This cannot be. The crew is frozen all around him. He smells their fear. He cannot penetrate their minds.

"My Lord—"

A man moves forward to his aid. Another raises a blaster and kills him with the first step he takes. Half the room pull out blasters and take the unprepared half down.

"Restrain him!" someone says.

Ben reacts with the Force, an injured animal, trapped and made more dangerous. He rends the blasters from their hands. He slams as many bodies as he can against consoles but he is fading. The explosion of a battle through the viewport lights up the black of space. He is on his hands and knees. He is struck by the bolt of a blaster. The charge of a taser. The kick of a boot. He lies down. He is so weak. He is succumbing to darkness but not the one he loves, the one he knows, the one that brings him peace.

"Sleep now, _Emperor_."

He does not sleep. He cannot sleep. But the blackness consumes him. He is lost to its depths.

* * *

He does not know how much time has passed when he finally wakes.

His head is heavy, his eyes cannot focus. His link to the Force is sluggish; it feels so far away. He cannot move but he is not lying down. Something solid at his back and across his neck, his torso, his arms and wrists, all the way down his legs. Straps and bindings. Metal restraints. He feels their coolness against bare skin, stripped down to only pants; even his boots are gone. He is shackled to an interrogation table, he thinks. He closes his eyes and waits and lets the nausea and drowsiness pass. Breathes deep and slow. Opens his eyes again.

He sees a window before him. An observation chamber that belongs to a cell. On the other side is a plain gray room containing only a chair. He tests his mouth. There is no sound but a mumble; when he breathes it is as if air is escaping from a crate. A muzzle, he thinks. It encloses the lower part of his face, from his cheekbones to his throat. Even his tongue is restrained. Am I that frightening? Do you miss my mask? Show yourself.

A door inside the observation chamber slides open. General Hux steps through. Sneering and triumphant. He still wears his First Order uniform as if the costume retains any meaning. It all means nothing to Ben. There is only the pitiful man. Inadequate bastard. I could flay you down to your basest elements, every atom of hate. But I won’t.

I will wait.

Hux steps forward. There is glee in his eyes, a madness, a euphoria. Such ecstasy where insanity lives. He moves up to the window panel and raises a hand.

"Kylo Ren."

His palm flattens against the glass and Ben can see the colors change. Silver and blue. The wall is crystal, the same kind that forms the palace throne room back on Coruscant, and now Ben knows.

"You have been here before but never where you are now." The general removes his hand and tilts his head the slightest fraction. "I wonder what the view is like from in there?"

Breathe, Ben thinks.

"Magess was never a fan," he continues. "Although he spent a week here. Do you remember? You put him under my control and I took such good care of him, just as you asked. I think that was your first mistake. Or perhaps not. There have been so many." Hux sits down in the only chair. "An endless cascade of missteps, it is difficult to go back and work out what the first one had been. I have my theories, of course. Would you mind if I share them?"

Just breathe.

"Of course." Hux smiles. "I should have killed you when I had the chance. But you woke up in that ruined throne room and told me everything I needed. You think I would believe that the girl killed Snoke and his guards and took out you as well? I kept my silence, for survival is paramount above all else. And you told me more with your actions. That you cared for this worthless scavenger. That your desire for her trumped everything else. Never give up power for love." Particles of saliva glint in the artificial light as his cold pink mouth vibrates with emphasis. "It is where anarchy lies. Where control is ceded to ruin."

Hux stills, regaining composure, before giving a brief shake of his head. "Still, that miscalculation has brought immeasurable benefit to me. All this time wondering how I was going to overthrow you when you captured the answer and brought her into our midst. Jealousy. It’s so simple, isn't it? Me coveting your power. Magess coveting your wife. And with his imprisonment, you gave us a unified goal."

Ben is straining the metal bonds, straining to scream. The Force watches, still far away from him. Hux watches too, amused.

"You’re wondering how I knew? Once your brother-knights decided you had abandoned their ideals—once they had learned Magess’ punishment—my plan could be brought into action. And your true enemy could be freed. For he is, my Lord." Hux's smile is soft, almost feminine. "He hates you far more than I ever did."

Ben’s eyes must stretch too wide, for the general stands once more and draws an index finger across the crystal, giddy with the trail of sickly yellow that it leaves. "You did not know? Tut tut. You thought the sleeping princess did still sleep?" The finger moves to tap against his chin. "Even I have to admire the degree of ruthlessness required to keep a man like you did. All this time when you thought your secret was secure and yet it resided here with me."

Ben cannot breathe.

"It is here that I must commend you. You have trained your knights well. I thought them brutish and ineffectual, like the one who remains tethered to your side. But they have been decisive. Loss of faith in a master is a most inspiring thing. Free of your constraints, they have grown exceptionally powerful." Hux’s voice turns wistful, laced with malicious nostalgia. "I wonder what Supreme Leader Snoke would think. Who would be his cur now?" Spittle hits the glass, teeth bared and shiny white; all is acid, in his eyes and in his words as he paces before the window. "Why haven’t I killed you yet? When I have wished you dead. Prayed with all my being. But death can come in many forms, even if now is not the time. It is Magess' dearest wish. Not until he has _her_."

Ben cannot hear.

"—he's deluded himself to think it love just as you, but at least he plans to make use of her—"

The metal creaks and cuts into his wrists, sticky and wet with blood as it drips to the floor.

"Know and remember it well as you wait for the execution bell," Hux kisses the glass, his breath a hot caress that turns the crystal into green and orange and purple and gold, "the girl will fall into Magess’ hands and she will be our weapon."

There is a pain somewhere inside Ben’s head. It throbs and it burns. His blood is warm and growing warmer. He feels the Force inside his bones, seeping out from his marrow like Mustafar’s rivers of lava. Any drug that is left, whatever sedative that they spiked him with, is being incinerated and there is clarity and there is screaming and there is shaking in his arms and in his legs and in the table he is strapped to. The floor and all the walls and he can see Hux’s face, white and lost, his footing failing.

"Ren!"

The rage is a song he has learned since he was young, practiced the notes and tested his range. Composed painful dirges and epic ballads, whole operas to his anger. Lived a lifetime on its sound, its taste, fluid as air, a precious oxygen. He is one with the Force and the Force is with him and lives in him and is made of a rage that is pure and good.

_Rey._

It reaches out across a galaxy, aimless but with purpose. He knows what he wants, who he loves, who he will die to protect, and the room changes around him. A sudden shift in sight and sound and smell. In an instant, he knows.

The bond is returned.

He can see her. She stands in a room of crystal, splintered black around her feet, and she screams. Not aloud but in his head. He can hear her. Every thought that she has. All the hurt and anger. He has betrayed her, and she waits with venom for him.

She senses him—she must. She turns, and her eyes go wide.

"Ben?"

Even in her anger, she runs to him. Touches the mask upon his face and he can feel the pressure of her fingertips. "What have they done to you?"

She is crying. "Did you lie? Is it true? Did you do this? What is happening? He is here! I couldn’t feel you. You were gone. And you did this. You lied to me when you said you never would!"

He cannot speak. She touches the mask at his mouth. Her fingers tug on the muzzle, thread through his hair. I am sorry, he thinks. I am sorry. Can you hear me?

Something else draws her attention. The room spreads out before him, an expanding lung. A body lies on the bed he had Malaak set up but the body is Pular’s. And a voice. Ben cannot see what she sees but he hears and he knows.

"I really couldn’t stand how we left things between us."

_I will feast on your soul._

The room is changing again. Rey activates her lightsaber, swings it in one hand just as he would, lets out a wild cry just as she did in another throne room. Feral girl. His warrior queen. Her visage is lost as the light and sound changes, the closing of a channel, like being sucked through a prism. Rey is gone. Ben is returned to the cell. To the crystal wall. To Hux’s panicked face.

"What did you do?"

A crack can be heard; it can be seen as well, growing through the pane of crystal. All the rage inside his heart, boiling in his blood; Ben cannot keep it in.

"We need more sedatives!" Hux is saying. He is running for the door. The crack is multiplying, sprouting limbs, a complex of veins, a cascade of errors. Each one Ben knows. Yes. Each one is his. Rey. I am coming. I am sorry. Fight and live and let me find you. I am sorry. I will kill you. Hux. _Magess._ I will kill you all.

The anger is erupting inside him. Not righteous and true like his love’s but violent and dirty. It hungers for a billion souls. Every corner of the universe. It reaches out and the crystal shatters, thousands of shards falling then hovering, scattering wide to move in invisible currents. He flexes and shakes, the restraints breaking apart at his wrists and arms, across his chest, his legs. He is screaming in his rage, in his head, as the muzzle cuts into his tongue, and it shatters too. He bites through it, bites through everything. The table disintegrates behind him as he lands on bare feet.

Bodies pile through the door, but Ben is ready. Kylo Ren. Jedi killer. Heir to Darth Vader. Whoever the fuck he is. The Force flows around him and the galaxy shakes. He raises a hand. The fist of his heart bursts open.

Shards of crystal strike the lines of men, fatal darts that slice through armor and flesh and bone alike. Ben rips apart the doorway, throws the bodies aside, blocks blaster fire, returning bolts back toward their senders. He dismantles guns, dismantles arms and legs. There are cries of pain and anguish, sprays of blood. Lights flash on and off, red and bloody too; the whole ship echoes with the wail of alarms.

_I am coming, Rey._

He can trace Hux in the Force, running through the ship, directing more troopers towards him as he flees. Heading for the bridge. Ben is in the lower bowels. He can sense the entire structure of this ship, all the ships around, the planets and the stars. Every life and every death that he has caused. The living and the spirits. He does not see with his eyes. Just colors like the throne room crystal, imperceptible movements. All is rage. All is the Force inside, Dark and hungry and insatiable. All is him.

He stalks down corridors, swims through seas of soldiers, climbs the crest of waves formed by their bodies. He wrenches open doors, tears holes in walls and through ceilings. Rises up. Leaps and floats. He must find the bridge. He must find the general. He must find a way back to Coruscant.

As more men approach, he mutters, "Death!" A single word and they fall. He reaches for his lightsaber. The cracked crystal inside it pulses, a bleeding heart, a steady beat that thrums through his blood. It comes to him, blade slicing through all that stands in its path, twisting and spinning, until it lands safe in his hand. The bridge, he thinks. I am coming. Yes.

He cuts through the hull, rends jagged edges wide. Bodies are sucked out the laceration into space but the Force surrounds him. He climbs higher. Makes the broken elevator lift him even as the vessel creaks and warps in distress. Four troopers meet him at the top. "You will take me to the bridge." In a trance, lost to his voice, they obey. All obey. All obey or die—and die if he tells them. All run out of his way. Explosions sound. An evacuation order is given. To the bridge, he thinks. To the bridge. He is close. Hux is running from him. You will not escape. I will take you down.

He enters the bridge as officers flee. He holds them still with a raised hand. He makes a fist and crushes their throats, lets their bodies drop, stands before the controls.

"HUX!"

Screens shatter and machinery sparks with the strength of his voice. But Hux is gone. And Ben is not alone.

A fleet of destroyers lies before him, smaller ships, escape pods—Hux's somewhere among them. The destroyers are repositioning. They wait for the convoy to clear and then—

They fire.

He calls on the Force to be his friend, be his hand, be more than the nothing of space. He thinks it, and two destroyers swerve and collide. He holds his ship together, reaches out across the room to deploy the shields.

Failing monitors whimper their last warnings. The stabilizers are failing and the hull splits in two. One of the few vis-screens remaining shows Ben the damage. He dials the controls to seal off what is left as the lost half tumbles into the orbit of the planet below. A ball of fire against the desert surface, it burns up and explodes as it passes through the atmosphere.

A warning of incoming fire signals diverts Ben’s attention. He barely has time to edge two ion blasts away. He must escape, he thinks, he must get to Rey, but how? The shields are failing. His will alone is keeping what is left of the craft from being swept into the planet's gravitational field. He has to do something, he thinks. He will not die. He will not fail. And then, he hears it.

"Ben!"

The bond reconnects, and he can see the ruined throne room. Black has spread throughout the splintered crystal, thick as oil, as congealed blood. Rey fights. He can see her, watches on helplessly. But she is not helpless. She does not need him.

His love is brutal and deadly; unpolished and dangerous in her lack of finesse. Her saber clashes with Ersn’s and, even if he is a mindreader, he cannot predict the spin and sudden strike that slices through his shoulder. She crushes his windpipe with the Force and throws him across the room. He slides across the floor, ends lying crumpled against a wall. Behind her Malaak fights with Vadanav. She turns and charges into the fray but another steps before her, his red saber glowing against his smiling handsome face.

"You are meant for the Dark," Alec says. "You are meant to be mine."

"I am no man's!"

Her words are drowned by the roar of Malaak, who strikes Vadanav down. But blood spurts from his side and he is falling.

"NO!"

Rey lets out an inhuman sound. She charges at Alec with Luke's familiar lightsaber. Red and green meet in a blur of light and sound. Alec is the stronger combatant, but Rey is more agile and she uses this, ducking a blow meant to immobilize her sword-arm. He lunges and she feints, but not before he lands a stab to her guard arm. Rey screams; Ben shouts in fury. And defying all belief, Alec turns to look at him.

Alec studies Ben's surroundings as if he can see them as well. He laughs. "Come to watch? Oh, but this is perfect. How I wanted you to see."

There is movement from the corner, and Rey is charging him again. She has the advantage of surprise and she uses it, sinking her blade into Alec's knee and then shoulder as he sways. Then, in a flurry of movement, she slices upwards and across his face. How Ben knows that move. With a scream, Alec falls.

"Ben." Rey rushes towards their connection. "Where are you?" She searches the screens behind him. "Tell me the coordinates."

It is too late. For these few moments, his concentration was broken and the ship has entered the desert planet’s atmosphere. A distant klaxon sounds to tell him another missile is incoming. But no matter. Rey is safe. Ben smiles.

"No," she breathes. She hears the klaxons too. "Ben—"

"It’s okay," he tells her, his hand reaching out for her. "You’re not alone. Don’t forget."

"Neither are you." Tears pour down her face as her hand reaches for him. Their fingertips brush. "Please, Ben."

"I love you."

" _No._ "

"Yes!" a voice hisses and a pale hand clamps around her forearm, dragging her away.

She is out of his reach, sinking down, the distance between them growing. Ben races to the edge of their connection, his blade drawn, though he cannot impale her assailant. Pular! He stands behind her, emerged from the bed as little more than a skeleton. But with all his strength he is using the one gift he has left: draining the Force from her.

"REY!"

But she is gone. He is alone. All is heat and fire; the ship is burning around him. Klaxons crescendo in their grief, signaling a direct hit. The missile strikes. Dark and Light.

It’s too late, Ben thinks.

The ship explodes.


	48. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Strong warnings for brainwashing/grooming/emotional abuse ahead. If this is a trigger for you, I suggest reading the end notes before proceeding. Thank you.

"Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile  
Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd  
The Mother of Mankind"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

ONE YEAR LATER

 _ **Headquarters of the High Council**_ **  
**_**Location: Royal Palace, Theed**_  
_**Planet: Naboo**_  
_**Classification: Section VII, Mid Rim Territory**_  
_**Known Galaxy of the Sacred Imperium**_

 

She wakes to sunlight on her face.

At first there is panic, the sharp, indrawn breaths, the feeling that she can't get enough air. She is used to this now. She remembers what the doctors told her. _Take it easy, take it slow. You've been through so much, my Lady._

She stares at her hands. Flexes her fingers to make sure they are real, concentrating on the movement of each muscle. She is here. She lives. She breathes. The fear clawing at her mind begins to recede and, in its place, there is peace.

She spreads her gaze wider. The sunlight spills across her bedsheets, purples and greens and yellow; a cornucopia of jewels, lit from the stained glass windows that sit thirty feet above her bed. The beautiful dome painted with brushed gold and silvertine. Ancient art, her Love told her, as he took her to the place where the craftsman still made them in the same ancient way.

"We are all rebuilding," he had said, smiling at her. She thinks of his voice, of his calming presence, and the peace she clawed for tentatively finally feels secure.

She rises from the bed. There is no robe nearby but her nightgown is not thin, and the nights in Theed are mild. She walks out to the balcony and stares across the square. The roof of the main citadel is almost finished—rebuilt, from where the merciless hordes tried to destroy everything, to take it all away from them. A shadow hovers at the edge of her consciousness and she feels a chill run down her spine. She concentrates on breathing, stares back down at her hands.

I am here, she thinks. I am real.

"Milady?"

Ursa enters with a bright smile, her warmth second only to that of the Nabooine sun. She immediately fetches a robe and wraps it around her mistress' shoulders before moving to each of the twenty-foot windows to open the drapes. Sunlight pours into her chambers now and it is cleansing. The hovering shadow is gone and one again there is peace.

Ursa makes her way to the adjacent room that serves as a closet, sifting through dresses in shades of the most delicate Lake Country butterflies. "Busy day today, Milday," she says. "We've just received word that the Supreme Leader will be joining us."

Her mistress does not react to these words, only stands complacent as a child as Ursa bathes her and dresses her and fusses for over an hour at the styling of her hair. At last her maid is satisfied, and the looking glass shows a beautiful, if still somewhat unfamiliar creation. Her dark hair teased and curled, it is held up in two netted buns on the sides of her face while the rest is tied with gold ribbon and left to hang down her back. A thin gold band circles her forehead. Her shoulders are bare, covered only at the edges by a sheer pink and gold shirt with long blousy sleeves, held tightly to her middle by the gold corset that makes her waist appear almost invisible. A full gold skirt brushes the floor, the back of it forming a train behind her that swishes when she moves. Her hazel eyes are carefully accented but not overwrought by the cosmetics Ursa uses, and there is just enough of a pink glow on her cheeks that no help is needed there. Even her freckles have faded now, an unhappy reminder from the time of the accident, from _before_. But, like the lingering shadows in her consciousness, they merely hover; she knows that soon they will vanish as well.

Ursa steps back to admire her. "Milday, you are perfect."

"Indeed she is."

There is a new voice in the room, an achingly familiar one, deep-toned and soft, full of all the confidence in the galaxy. For the first time, Ursa's mistress truly smiles.

"My Love," she breathes.

* * *

She does not spend the morning in her gardens as she usually does and, on this day, it makes her sad. She misses the air and light and the speaking of green things. Not literally of course for that would be absurd, would make her passel of cautious and concerned doctors furrow their brows further and clamor for more tests and rest and calm and lying quietly in dark chambers. (She does not like the dark.)

No, the green things speak to her in the way that they respond to her touch, as if she is a favored friend, a comrade with whom they have shared past secrets. She loves to make things grow. She would say it is her best talent. Her Love would say that her talents are more numerous than the grains of sand along this Wispan Sea. He often stays with her when she is outdoors; never bothersome, never interrupting, just a calm steady presence, there if she needs him (if she loses her footing, if the voices return).

He stays by her side now but to escort her somewhere else.

"So, you have heard then?" he says.

Her Love studies her face. She tries not to frown and he tries not to match it, but they are connected, him and her, and somehow she knows that he feels her slightest sorrow, every twinge of unease, and they are strengthened for it. You are not alone, he told her in those first few moments when she had woken up. You are not alone and I am here always. I will never leave you.

"Yes," she answers, and this time, she doesn't hide her frown. "Will it be for long?"

"A perfunctory visit." He smiles. "They won't even stay 'til supper."

Lunch is a far more lavish affair than usual. For one, the entire court is there, her Beloved's knight-brothers and all members of the Council. She does not see them often, though they live on the palace grounds too. They are often training, in deep meditation and study, or off-world supporting the work of the Imperium. Secretly she is glad of this, though she does not tell her Love. She suspects he knows and there is no point in wasting words between them.

His grip tightens around her hand. "You'll be fine," he tells her; soft words for her ears alone as she is seated at the foot of the table, before he walks around to take his place at the head. They do not remain standing for their distinguished visitor, but that is a simple form of rank. Some would say that he is the most powerful man in the galaxy, but every person in this room knows better. The Supreme Leader is beholden to the Council; to their wisdom and their guidance and their ageless power. Though he is the face of the government, they are its strength. A groomsman stands in the doorway to make the announcements.

"The Supreme Leader, my Lord, and the Viceroy Mitaka."

They enter in a flurry of pomp and shimmering gray military uniforms—a hard contrast to the soft colors of the royal court. The Supreme Leader takes his seat at the right hand of her Beloved and the Viceroy sits to her right. Of all the people in Hux's entourage, she probably likes Mitaka the best, though that would be damning with faint praise. He has the least of the weasel about him, she decided early on in their meetings, some specter of kindness still lingering, however far removed from the mask he wears today.

Mitaka bows deeply over her hand. "My Lady."

She nods in assent.

"So," her Beloved begins with a smile as he turns to their most distinguished servant, "how is our beautiful Imperium?"

* * *

The talk is banal and does not interest her. Minor rebellions and upsets, a food shortage in the Core Worlds, trade disputes among the guild federations, nothing that the Supreme Leader can't or hasn't already handled. No, the conversations are not new, and so she watches the participants instead.

There are her Beloved's knight-brothers, Ersn and Vadanav, both sat to her left. Bonded to each other as much as to the order they serve, each man is a study in opposites, one dark and one light, one physically unblemished and the other scarred, dependent on a prosthetic right arm and right leg. Both remain quiet, observing with shrewd eyes, an unspoken flow of conversation passing between them that she suspects her Beloved sometimes participates in as well.

She asked him about it once and his expression softened. "From our ancient training," he said, his smile tinged with sadness. "We are the last of our kind."

 _Sorcerers_ , she'd heard a scullery maid whisper, but she knows that is not true. There are many powers in the universe and only a fraction of them can be seen.

Ersn and Vadanav continue their habit of ignoring her in favor of Hux's report; she is sure there will be more to discuss with her Beloved once the Supreme Leader is gone. Their fellow brother-knight Pular also listens with muted interest, sitting on her Beloved’s left, though he is his true right hand. A thin wisp of a man with the face of a boy, he has the eyes of someone centuries older. Though he shares the same powers as his brothers, she senses a difference, something unsettling within him. She does not like when his eyes are cast upon her skin, untrusting and distant.

She tried to explain the sensation to her Beloved and it is the only time she can remember him regarding her with an expression turned stern.

"Do not speak ill of Pular," he cautioned in a deceptively gentle tone. "He has sacrificed more for our cause than anyone. His heart is true."

At this, she was shamed into silence, and they have not spoken of it since. Still, she gives the Knight Pular a wide berth, as, she suspects, he does her.

Hux is a tall man with red hair and the pale complexion to match. There is harshness and superiority in his voice that she finds offensive, but as her Beloved once said, he is a fern-tiger without teeth, and she suspects he is right. Hux takes his role very seriously and she is glad, for if he did not then the burden would fall to her Beloved and she cannot bear the thought of having him taken away from her.

As if he has heard this, his gaze stretches across the long length of table between them. How her heart flutters when he looks her way. Even after all these months (years? she is desperate to remember). There are those that find his face terrifying, but to her he is perfect. She cannot remember exactly what he looked like before; she can only imagine the former symmetry, two beautifully matched blue eyes, clear as the cloudless skies over their lake home. His nose and the left half of his face are unaffected by the accident, but the right half… Where there should be skin is a wide expanse of metal that begins over his right eye, encompassing and coming to a point at the base of his right cheek. His right eye is metal as well, a constant whir of mechanisms and humming that sings of a world unto itself. There is no color in the metal iris, nor darkness to its pupil. He could choose a cosmetic skin, of course, the appearance of an eye to match its surviving twin. As much had been offered by the galaxy’s most advanced specialists, but her Beloved had just shaken his head.

"I am not ashamed of having fought for you, my Love. Would you prefer that the evidence be erased?"

Tears had spilled from her own unspoiled eyes at those words. No! No, of course not, she had told him. What he had done for her, to save her, she would never cover those scars.

"It is a reminder," her Beloved said. "A warning that we should not be complacent, that there is always the threat."

With thoughts of the threat, she suppresses a shudder. It is the darkness that lurks on the edge of her dreams.

* * *

They adjourn after lunch to the salon, and it is here that the Supreme Leader makes his true wishes known.

"I would like assistance with Chandrila," he says after a long pause. "The unrest there is escalating and I fear—"

"You need our help," her Beloved interjects. He looks to her. "My Lady's help."

Her heart accelerates, but this time for an entirely different reason.

* * *

They go into the white chamber, an empty hall with no windows or decoration or distractions of any kind. At the periphery are seven white chairs and in the middle another placed on a dais. Her beloved leads her there.

"Couldn't it wait?" she asks, her voice a whisper only he can hear.

"It will not take long," he assures her. "Remember how I said it would help?"

She does. Something about recalling her own strength and powers; the ancient creature she is, same as her Beloved and his brother-knights, expect her powers have been lost. "Nearly destroyed," her Beloved said with a bitterness in his voice. "Your perfection was nearly sacrificed by the one who would seek to harm you."

She still feels a cold aching at these words.

Now, her Beloved kneels before her and takes her hands in his. Warm and strong, he bends down to kiss each of hers, the dimmed light of the chamber still casting a glow on his golden hair. Her golden prince, she thinks. Hux and the Knights all take their seats, while Mitaka brings forth a scrap of rough green cloth.

"Taken from their leader," he tells her Beloved.

Her Beloved turns to her. "Do you remember what we practiced?" She nods. She takes the cloth in her hands and empties her mind of all other thoughts. She closes her eyes.

She sees Chandrila—a place she has never been, but oh, she could map the entire planet in this moment if she so chose. High mountains and green forests but this cloth has a different home, one of alleyways and stench-filled streets, a crowded city where one can keep out of sight. She cannot see the face of its owner, but she feels the strength of their resistance, their fierce fighting spirit.

The voice of her Beloved calls to her through the haze. "You must subdue it."

She does. She presses against the weight of the emotions from this tiny scrap of cloth. There, there, she thinks. There is nothing to fight. Stop your struggle, please. The room around her begins to shake.

"Mitaka," Hux's words are nearly drowned out by the din of emotions she finds herself in. "Tell Kirss to launch the attack."

Within moments, a wave of heat washes through her. There is suffering and terror and she tries to give comfort. No, she thinks. Don't run. Don't fight. Lie gentle, little soldiers. She can see faces now, old men and young girls, mothers with babies strapped to their sides, all armed to fight, to die for the cause. No, she thinks, and pulls the fight out of them. Be peaceful. You have lost but you can live. Let go, let go. Put your burdens down. Please.

Another face swims through her vision. Sharpness and determination, she can feel it like the blade of a knife. The face appears with clarity now—dark eyes, a square jaw, a mop of curly brown hair that looks so familiar—

"Enough!"

She opens her eyes and the face is gone; there is only her Beloved kneeling before her. "Clear the room," he says, his eyes never leaving hers. "That is enough for today."

"Bur sir," Mitaka's voice is plaintive, "we've nearly got them—"

" _Now_."

Chairs shift and footsteps echo down the hall. Her breathing is too fast; she can't control it. "I—they were suffering, the man—"

"Shhhh," her Beloved takes something and wipes at her face. Tears? No, the color is red. Her nose has begun to bleed again. "You just overdid it is all."

"But, I thought I _knew_ him—"

"It is a trick," he says kindly. "There is so much in your mind that you cannot trust. That is part of the healing process, remember?"

She feels like crying. "Yes, I remember."

He leans down to kiss her hands. "Kira, there is nothing I wouldn't do to protect you. Do you trust me?"

I trust you.

He hears the thought and nods his grateful assent.

"Look at me, Kira."

Her eyes meet a steady stare of silvery metal and perfect blue.

"Now say the words. Say them with me."

She takes a shaking breath.

"I am safe.  
I am loved.  
I am protected.  
This is my true self;  
This is who I am.  
I have nothing to fear,  
Neither angels, nor demons,  
Neither air nor land nor sea.  
There is nothing left to fear  
Except that which lives inside me."

"Let go now, Kira."

She releases an exhale.

"Sleep now, Kira."

She does.

* * *

Alec follows the smell of decanted Corellian whiskey. Here in his favorite room, sitting in his favorite chair, drinking his favorite two hundred year-old vintage sits the Supreme Leader, just as Alec knew he would.

"For all your sorcerer's faults, my Lord," Hux begins, "you still have the finest taste in liquor."

Alec shuns a proffered glass and takes the seat opposite.

"Was the raid successful?" he asks.

Hux shrugs. "We destroyed their meager force but Dameron escaped. Again," he adds petulantly. "You need to work her harder—"

"These things take time."

The pressure on his windpipe is subtle, but Hux still feels the impression. He checks his tone to one of submission. "I just mean that it has been so long."

"You have your peace," Alec says. "You have stability."

"Yes, but the Resistance are not dead," Hux argues. "General Organa is still in hiding. The remains of the Emperor cannot be found—" He emits a choked wheeze.

"You will not speak of him to me."

"Forgive me… my Lord," he struggles to get out. "But we need her strong. You know it's true. Those spirits on Moraband, whatever you gave her over to, they did not go far enough."

"I will decide what is enough. I would not have her lost."

"But there is so much to be gained—"

The glass shatters in Hux's hand. "This is not a matter of force," Alec says calmly. "We can only fully harness her power when it is of her own volition. When it is her choice."

The Supreme Leader looks down at the shards of glass in his hand, at the blood mingling with the fine Corellian whiskey. "Be careful of your love, my Lord. Without caution, I fear we are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past."

"Your counsel is noted," Alec says. Hux stands.

"Then I take my leave. Thank you, my Lord." He bows deeply and without any artifice or lingering resentment. "Long live the Sith."

* * *

Kira wakes to sunlight on her face.

She is not in her chambers. She is not even in the palace. She is on another world—another planet. Even the air feels different. It is kissed with moisture and green but she cannot see it, not yet. She stands, shrugging off the heaviness of her limbs. Her bare feet touch a grated metal floor. She is on a ship. Dingy white wall panels, fraying electrical circuits— _a piece of junk_ , her mind supplies—yet she continues on. She must find the green, the water, there are things that she must see.

Her feet move faster. She runs through corridors until she finds the loading ramp. Bright sunlight hits her face. It is a jungle; it is morning. Foliage as thick as the waves of a sea. She must keep moving. Despite her lack of shoes, she is not concerned. She weaves around trees, under vines, climbing over felled trunks.

Something calls her. Across the stars, across her blood. Her feet continue to move. She goes deeper and inhales the wet, perfumed air of a thousand living things. It is paradise. But how did she get here?

The peacefulness calls to her. It takes her feelings and shelters them, gives them safe haven and a place to rest. She walks further into the forest.

The plants begin to clear. In their wake is ancient stone. A structure once, but now it has fallen prey to nature, and Kira thinks it does not mind. She winds though stone walls, a crumbling maze; there are birds of such beautiful colors, tiny frogs with songs like bells. She can hear water in the distance.

At last, she thinks. I can rest here. I am safe.

She crosses over heaping vines and down a narrow path. She knows where she is going now though she does not know why. Her steps are sure, her resolve is firm. She climbs around a partially decayed structure, and it opens into a clearing. She sees the waterfall. She sees boulders like chairs around a felled tree.

A figure sits there. Kira freezes. She dares not breathe in the desperate hope that she has not been seen. But the figure shifts. Its hooded head raises as if it can catch her scent. Draped wholly in black, now it stands, immense as a mountain, every part of it obscured.

I know you, she thinks, and cold horror floods her body.

Here is the monster of my dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter deals with the fallout of Rey's capture by Alec, which was implied at the end of last chapter. It's a year later, she thinks her name is Kira and that Alec is her husband/beloved. Strong themes of brainwashing and emotional manipulation. References to Rey's past PTSD, the details of which aren't fully disclosed. There are no acts of violence against her, and while we're on that note, although this section is going to be dealing with some dark material when it comes to Rey's capture and crisis of identity, it's not going to feature any sexual violence. It's just not something I can write so we're not going to go there.
> 
> That's all I've got for now. Stay safe and happy fic reading! -UEM


	49. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Independence Day! I'm sorry this took so long. Had to go hard on the research for this one, and also spend some time on our quickly multiplying storylines (I swear, it's like three-dimensional chess over here). It's time we checked in on the Resistance…
> 
> Trigger warnings: Mentions of war-related violence, though nothing specific (and no references to sexual violence).

"And that must end us, that must be our cure:  
To be no more."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

 

 _ **Resistance Base Alpha**_  
_**Location: Miterene Valley**_  
_**Planet: Formac**_  
**_Classification: Csilla system, Chiss Space_**  
_**Unknown Regions of the Sacred Imperium**_

  
"Report?"

Silence. A chill settles over the room, deeper than the thick walls of ice that surround them. From the set of Kaydel's chin, Elsa knows that the news is not good.

"Heavy losses. Our forces were overcome. It's unknown at this point—" Kaydel stops, takes a moment to collect the emotions rippling across her face "—if there were any survivors."

Elsa sinks into a chair. "Gods." The odds weren’t great, she knew they weren't, had told Poe the same, but there had been so little opportunity to fight back and she thought, they had all thought—

She catches the room watching her. They are looking to her, even the old man who not so long ago had thought her a child in need of correcting. So much has changed, she thinks. It hurts to remember just how much.

Elsa stands, smooths imaginary wrinkles on her utilitarian gray pants and matching jacket. Her uniform, for lack of a better term, in a world where the Resistance has no uniform, where the rebels have no army. "Make contact with the other bases," she tells them. "Use discreet channels or off-world travel. I want a report of resources, including personnel. Contact Delta and see if they can get any spies over to the site of battle."

The room begins to hum with energy again, and Elsa exhales the breath she was holding. Kaydel is still watching her.

"And the General?" she asks softly. "Who will tell her?" Kaydel doesn't have to explain for Elsa to understand the implication of those words.

"I'll take care of it." She nods to the younger woman. "Lieutenant, you have the con."

"Yes, Commander," Kaydel snaps a crisp salute.

Elsa salutes back awkwardly then makes her way from the room. She thinks that she will never get used to military protocol, but neither can she bear to do away with it. The Resistance has already lost so much and there is comfort in habit, in the order and structure of soldiering. Whether she will ever feel comfortable in that world is a different matter. In her head she hears Poe's laughter, teasing her about the droop of her elbow and the horrid angle of her wrist the first time she tried it. A pain emanates from somewhere inside her chest, vague and unlocatable; she cannot afford the luxury of emotion, she reminds herself, not anymore. She walks with purpose through the frozen corridors that make up their home.

A year, she thinks. A year since the attack on Coruscant and she had liked the symmetry of returning the favor on its anniversary, even in some small way. If she closes her eyes for too long, she can still see the burning palace, still smell the smoke of charred buildings and bodies alike. Even now, the speed with which it all happened makes it difficult to comprehend.

She had been with the Empress and the General, the latter of whom had been beside herself over the loss of contact with her son. Force contact, not any kind that Elsa understood, except from having spent time with those who bore those gifts. She had never seen the General so scared. Then the Empress went into a kind of trance and collapsed. Malaak had ordered the General out, drawing upon the Force in his words, but taking a moment to stroke Elsa's cheek before he closed the door. _It's okay_ , he had told her, the rough bur of his voice slowing to gentleness. Those were his last words to her. There is not a day that goes by that she doesn't regret leaving that room.

The first explosion shook the ground about thirty minutes later. They felt its tremble through the floors of Leia's chambers and watched the wall crack in half as if it were thin dram porcelain. The Great Hall of the Palace had collapsed, she later learned, followed by the building constructed to house the new Galactic Senate. Two thirds of its members will killed on impact; the rest are now in hiding. The palace was in chaos; people were running down hallways, shifting like currents of water as word began to spread that hostile troops had landed, bearing the white armor of stormtroopers and the insignia of the First Order.

Poe found them soon after, and a quick glance to Elsa was all it took to convey that they needed to get the General out of there and to do it right now. Leia had to be ushered like a child, drifting in and out of consciousness, weeping and disoriented.

"I feel him!" she told Elsa, gripping her hand hard enough to break bone. "He's okay, I feel him, I feel him."

Elsa could only murmur words of faint encouragement as she led them to the catacomb passageways, collecting more stragglers and Resistance members along the way. It was Malaak who had first guided her here so long ago, she clinging to his arm, en route to a secret wedding. Now she stood strong and the people followed her. More tremors shook the ground; explosions, Elsa knew, though she could not tell from how far away. They made their way through the winding maze of caves and ancient cisterns, and she remembered her cousin telling her how they were used to navigate the city during times of unrest. That night had saved their lives, she thought, stumbling upon the long-abandoned boat but unfortunately few others.

All the while as they traveled by water, Poe desperately tried to make radio contact with the Imperial Police.

"Malaak," she asked, grasping for the transmitter and repeating over and over, "where is Malaak?" The two squadrons they did reach hadn't seen him; a third had but with the Empress in the heart of the palace. One by one, the squadrons fell to invading troops, until the line went dead and she and Poe were left staring at each other in a leaking boat sailing along an underground lake.

"There's something wrong," Leia began muttering. "So much anger. He's worried, I can feel it. He's worried he won't get there in time and I can't help him, I can't—"

Poe reached over to hold her, less as a comfort and more to keep the older woman from tipping the boat in distress.

"I'm going back," Elsa whispered to Poe. "As soon as she's safe, as soon as you get everyone away."

" _No_ ," he whispered back, though it didn't matter, Leia was growing louder by the minute. "I'll go. You're in no condition—" he gestured to Elsa's round stomach.

The boat nudged the dock, leaving them no time to argue. They led their makeshift caravan up slick stone steps, to the same entrance to the city that that Emperor had taken them, emerging on the streets just in time to see a destroyer appear in the upper atmosphere.

"That's not ours," Poe said, an edge of fear creeping into his voice that Elsa had never heard before. "We need to get out of here. Now."

They ran, traversing a city that seemed to be turning itself inside out. Twice the crowds pushed Elsa away from the others, and twice she found her way back. They ran with the flow of beings, away from the center, away from the palace and the capital, out to lesser traveled paths, industrial centers long abandoned.

"I'm going to try to signal our people," Poe said. "We need to get off this planet."

 _You_ can, Elsa thought to herself. She knew where she was going once Leia got to safety. Poe led them into what looked to be a derelict factory and upward they climbed, like rats fleeing a flood, until they reached an outcropping of metal that had once been a walkway. Poe sat down and began working the dials of his communicator, scanning channels and frequencies. Part of the building’s metal siding was missing, and if she leaned slightly to the left, Elsa had an unobstructed view of the palace. Smoke was pouring from the Great Hall, but the majority remained intact.

 _Be okay_ , she prayed to unseen gods. _Be okay until I can find you._

Elsa could not feel the Force but she reached out with everything she could. Maybe he could still hear her, maybe he could feel, maybe—

A flash of light emanated from the destroyer; it turned the sky green, blinding her in the process. And then, in the space of a breath, the sound followed, a terrible bellow the likes of which Elsa had never heard. Debris shot miles into the air and the flames—the whole palace was engulfed in them. She screamed but even that sound was drowned out by a wail of pure agony, like an animal put to the slaughter.

"No," Leia cried. "NO!" She dropped to her knees. "My son!" she wailed. "He's dead. He's dead! I could feel, I can feel—" she collapsed in a heap of shuddering tears.

Elsa could not move. Could not give comfort, could not breathe, could not do anything but stare at the ruined city and the burning remains of where her love had been.

* * *

"General?"

She has learned to knock softly, to modulate her voice just so. It can be neither too loud nor too soft and her emotions must run calm, for the Force-sensitive part of their leader will know otherwise and tune her frequency to match, like a mirror that cannot separate image from creator.

Elsa releases all her anxiety with a steady exhale. She must have done it right, for the room's occupant does not jump up in alarm.

"Sweet girl," Leia calls to her. This is her name now. _Sweet girl_ or _pretty girl_. _Ice girl_ when the General is feeling especially mischievous, a juvenile giggle escaping her lined face.

"Sweet girl, what have you brought for me?" Leia's expression is open and eager. "Where is that big baby boy?"

"Sleeping, I hope." Elsa smiles then falters. "General, I bring news."

"But why not the baby?" Leia frowns. Her hair hangs long, a braid that skims down her narrow shoulder, entirely gray now. "Such a head of dark hair I've never seen except perhaps on Ben and even then it never grew so fast but oh, the lungs were far stronger. The way he used to cry—"

"General, your feet." Elsa kneels down on the frozen stone floor, grabbing the fleece lined boots and carefully placing Leia's bare feet inside. The older woman does not notice. Elsa wraps a heavy coat around the thin nightgown she wears.

"Not only lungs but grip, too. Has yours a grip? I forget his name. You have told me so many times—what is it?"

"Mala," Elsa says, repeating the steps of a conversation like a dance that has taken place many times before. "Short for Malaak."

"A lovely name," Leia says. "Musical." She frowns again. "His father shouldn't have left you, you know."

"It was too late," Elsa says, weary of the steps, her voice losing all its forced cheer. Like the mirror she is, Leia's face falls too.

"Too late," the older woman says softly. "Too late." Her brow furrows, and Elsa fears she has gone too far. "I was too late—and he was too late. Too late to tell him, I should have told him—"

"General, would you like some tea?" Elsa strides quickly to the quarters' small kitchen. "I think there is some left—"

"Too late," Leia mutters, sinking into her chair. Her gaze is far away now. "Too late. I meant to tell him. I meant to, and then—" For a moment, her disorientation fades. "Where's Poe?"

Poe.

Elsa could not say when they knew for sure that the General's mind had shifted. She was so distraught after they left Coruscant, understandably so, she had experienced the death of her only son from light years away. At first, they thought it was grief. But then the grief became forgetfulness, a retreat into a far-off world where her beloved Ben was a baby and Han was only a smuggler's run away from coming home.

She stopped recognizing those around her. Elsa for obvious reasons, but Kaydel and Finn and Rose too. Even Maz, on the rare times they could manage a connection with the base in Kashyyk; Poe was the only one she still knew. Poe, her knight. Her second son.

"Where is he?" she says again, looking every bit the lost girl she is.

"He…" Elsa does not know how to do this. _He is gone. He is dead. He perished fighting bravely for our cause._ None of this will matter to Leia. She'll be lost, like Mala without his favorite toy.

"He… he's running late tonight. Says he'll be back soon."

"Is he with Han?" Leia's face lights up for the briefest of moments.

"Yes," Elsa says, cursing herself for both the lie and the truth of the statement. "He's with Han."

* * *

"He's asleep."

Selena puts a finger to her lips as Elsa enters her own chambers. "Everything okay?" she whispers, somehow maneuvering her own sleepy children towards the door while they each cling to a leg.

Elsa can't even find the words to explain how not okay today was. "It was fine. Get some rest. I'm sorry I'm late."

The other woman gives her a weary smile as she goes. Elsa tiptoes over to the bassinet. Sure enough, Mala is sleeping, swaddled in scraps of fur, one chubby mittened hand crammed in his mouth as he sucks noisily on it.

Exhausted, Elsa moves to the small refresher, a closet of a room with the same ice walls as the rest of the base, and heats a galla lamp enough to allow the taps to unfreeze and run a small basin. Pulling the door softly behind her, she lets the lamp spread its warmth, enough to remove her snow jacket and unwind the heavy scarf from around her face. Even after seven months, she barely recognizes herself.

Red eyes stare back. Not red from crying, the irises are a shade of deep scarlet. Her skin is the blue of a winter sky at twilight. Her once long hair has been cropped very short, a spiky almost black that should look horrible but somehow manages to emphasize the sharpness of her cheekbones. Selena had cried the day they cut it off, and they both gasped as the rope of hair that fell to the floor turned back to its natural white blonde. They cried at so many things in those days; Selena grieving the loss of her husband in the attack on Coruscant and Elsa six months' pregnant and grieving the father of her own child.

But now, Elsa appears nothing more than the perfect Chiss female—a tall, striking blue-skinned humanoid race that inhabits this system. She had known a few Chiss growing up, had studied enough of their elegance and reserved mannerisms that in public she can pass for one of them, which is helpful considering that, with the Emperor dead, she is now the most wanted person in the galaxy. The Supreme Leader's jealousy and thirst for revenge have no bounds, and one of his first orders was to find the pregnant blonde princess, kill her child and bring her back to him in chains. She sighs at Hux's lack of imagination; luckily, she does not suffer the same deficiency. She has transformed herself so completely that not even her father recognized her (on the brief time in Csilla she'd seen him), which is probably for the best.

Opening a small metal tube, she swallows down a bitter powder and waits for the drug to take effect. Immediately her eyes turn redder, her skin a deeper blue. She buys the drug from an off-world smuggler and it only works for a few days at a time, so she makes sure to always travel with a large supply. Soon they will need to relocate the base. After the fall of Chandrila, the current networks cannot be trusted and the only safety lies in movement and reinvention, outpacing and outthinking their enemies and living for the day when they can strike hard and fast and take back what has been lost.

What, but not who. The pain threatens to tear at her heart and so she forces herself to put the emotions away. She will take them out and examine them later when she has time, each loss, each friend. Today's is especially hard. There was a time when she and Poe acted as rivals, both determined to lead the Resistance in the wake of Leia's affliction, each pulling from separate ends until realizing that they could pull together. What would she do without him? He was the brash heart to her cool pragmatism, the echo of another that burned even brighter and captivated her existence.

She shrugs off the memories as she shrugs out of her sweater, overheating even in the frigid room. You are feeling too much, she tells herself. You need to stop. But sometimes it is so hard and she is so lonely and there is no one who understands, no one who feels—

A telltale noise escapes from the other room. Sighs become murmurs, which quickly become cries. Mala struggles against his swaddling, escalating in volume as he catches a glimpse of his mother. Elsa picks him up and cradles him close. She never tires of his powdery smell, the soft heat of him; it is both the greatest comfort and the deepest pain all at once.

Mala continues his fretful noises. She takes him and sits down so she can arrange him in her arms. Pulling up one side of her inner sweater she frees her breast so he can latch on. Mollified, he tucks in and stares up at her with wide scarlet eyes.

Not the eyes he was born with. Those are brown like his father's, but the drugs in her system carry through her milk and so Mala has the same coloring she does, down to the pale blue skin.

The tears begin to well up now and they begin to fall before she can stop them. There is no one else she can cry around.

Mala pauses his feeding, staring up at her intently. He rests a tiny hand against her skin. He is looking at her now, different than usual, almost as if he sees what she is feeing, as if he is trying to understand it. He presses his tiny hand onto her and then she feels it—a wave of reassurance, of compassion.

Of love.

And in her mind, she hears the words: _It's okay. I'll find you._

Gasping, she nearly drops him, but Mala has moved on, resuming his feeding and soon his red eyes are drooping and he is sleeping quietly against her chest. Still in shock, she places him back in the bassinet and with just enough sense to pull her clothing back together before she slumps into her chair to watch the sleeping baby.

She feels the traitorous seed of hope begin to bloom inside her, even as she struggles to comprehend what just happened. When the voice behind her speaks, she almost doesn't hear it.

"Hey, Blue."

At first she thinks she's hallucinating. But he's standing in her doorway, dark eyes and dark hair and stupid cocksure grin and his stupid nickname for her—

She's not sure if he moves first or her but soon they have collided and he is spinning her around, barely since they are of the same height and most days it feels like she has an inch or two on him, but his grip is strong and he is real and his dark eyes are swimming in tears and hers are as well.

Poe nearly squeezes the life out of her. "Gods, Blue." His forehead presses to hers. "I missed you."

She fights the urge to lean in, remembering herself, and pulls back to look at him. "What happened? How did you survive?"

"I'm not sure. There was a pause between attacks, just a split second, and I was able to escape."

She reaches for his hands, dragging him to sit down with her on the small bench that passes for a sofa. "And the others?"

Poe looks stricken. "They just… stopped fighting. I've never seen anything like it. It's almost as if…" He stares at the floor.

"What?" Elsa says.

"As if they'd lost the will to go on."

"Because they were scared?"

"More like discouraged." Poe rakes a hand through his hair. "Like they were defeated inside their own minds." He pauses again, uncharacteristically quiet.

"What is it?" Elsa says. What aren't you telling me? she thinks.

"I've seen it before," he says. "Only I didn't know what it was. Before. At the palace." Elsa winces at the memory. "When we were negotiating with the Emperor's representatives. We were arguing over planetary authority and we nearly had our concessions when—" he shakes his head. "It was like someone was in my mind telling me I had to stop. Making it all feel hopeless. It took hours to shake the feeling. That's what happened here. But magnified. The battle was over before it had even begun."

"How is that even possible?" Elsa says. "What weapon could do that?"

"Not what," Poe says. "Who."

Elsa keeps silent.

"It was her," he goes on. "I don't know how, but they did it. Somehow, they've got her and they're using her and they made her do this. It's the same as before."

Elsa feels a chill that has nothing to do with the frozen planet they stand on. "Who?"

Poe looks at her as if she already knows the answer. In a way, she does. "The Empress," he says flatly. "It was Rey."

* * *

Later that night, after Poe has gone to look after Leia and quiet has stolen over the base, Elsa stands at the small window of her quarters and stares at the snowcapped mountain peaks outside, an unforgiving silhouette rendered by the planet's twin moons.

There were rumors of the Empress after the fall of Coruscant. After that day, she had never been seen again. Some say she was killed in the explosion. She had certainly never been found by the Resistance, not in all the pockets of all the corners of the galaxy they occupied. It was for the best, Elsa told herself. As much as she missed her brave and powerful friend, Elsa hoped that she had been spared the horrors of this new reality they found themselves in.

But there were other rumors. Of a council that the Supreme Leader himself answered to. Elsa's network of spies had never been able to confirm the existence of such a group, let alone where it was located. But there were some who said that the Knights of Ren were still living, and that it was they, not Hux, who truly controlled the Imperium.

Elsa stares at the twin moons and prays that her friend has perished. She has lived long enough to know there are things far worse than death.

But if—an unruly voice inside her begins—if she is alive, if the Knights are too, then that might mean; it was possible, that he might still be—

She silences the voice. If Rey is alive and is capable of what Poe thought, it means that she has been turned. That she is now their enemy. And if they could turn her then they could turn anyone, even…

 _Say it_ , the voice snaps. _Coward. Say it._

"Malaak," she whispers into the night.

What are you now? she thinks. Where are you? Are you still alive?

Elsa possesses no powers of the Force, just a love that burns inside her and will not die, no matter how much she wishes it would. It is with this power that she takes off her glove and presses bare skin to the glass, closes her eyes and prays to something she has no hope to understand.

_Let me find you._

* * *

Two thousand light years away, in a moonlit stretch of sand on Moraband, night winds sweep across the Valley of the Lords. They cannot be heard from inside the ancient citadel, and certainly not from the chamber that lies underneath it, nor upon the stone dais within, or the body that lies upon it; tattooed and scarred beyond recognition, a body that has not been animated by heart or lungs in nearly a year. No sound can travel into this place, and yet, a subtle tremor stirs the air.

The floor begins to tremble. Great stones creak and gradually shake. And in a moment, in a second that spans lifetimes, the body moves. Lips part as breath is sucked into lungs, a heart stutters and grows stronger with each passing beat.

At last, at long last, the body—a man—exhales his first breath and opens his eyes.

Princess, he thinks.

The knight called Malaak is awake.


	50. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey, y'all. To the folks still reading this story, thank you and you're amazing and you give me all the inspiration to keep going on this crazy Space Rollercoaster. 
> 
> We've caught up with Rey, with Elsa and Poe (even Malaak for like 2 seconds)... and now it's Ben's turn. Fingers crossed that this works.

"That day I oft remember, when from sleep  
I first awaked, and found myself reposed,  
Under a shade, on flowers, much wondering where  
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

 

 A YEAR (OR SO) EARLIER

 

 _ **Location: Unknown**_  
_**Planet: Unknown**_  
_**Classification: Wild Space, Somewhere west of Braxant Sector**_

 

What do you know about the Force?

It’s a power that Jedi have that lets them control people and make things float.

No. That’s wrong. I didn’t say that.

The Jedi—

My hand. This is my hand. He looks at it. My wrist. Carpal bones. Metacarpals. Phalanges. Bone.

This is my bone.

This is my eye.

He looks with it.

Five fingers. He counts. One. Two.

What do you know about your hand?

There should be five fingers. He counts his bones.

There should be tendons and arteries and veins and nerves. Ligaments and fascia and skin. There should be more than bone. There should be five fingers.

Why does my eye not blink?

What do you know about the Force?

Nothing, he thinks.

You are nothing.

I am nothing.

(But not to me.)

Why did I say that?

Look at your hand.

He does.

Let me help you.

Who are you?

Looks like it’s just you and me now, kid.

You and me. Our blood is one. The blood is—

Let no spirit tear this joining asunder!

A tearing. I am tearing. Light and heat and pain and darkness. My heart. I am tearing.

You are not alone.

Yes, I am.

My Babá.

My heart. Where is it?

Your hand. Look at your hand.

It does not move. It is just bone. His eye does not blink.

I failed you, Ben. I am sorry.

(I’m sure you are.)

He looks at his hand for two weeks. He counts the seconds. He does not breathe. His heart does not beat. But his finger. He can lift a finger.

What can you feel?

I feel nothing. There is bone. A deed that split your spirit. There are fingers that move without the will of flesh. There is light. There is sand. There is wind that howls loud enough to rattle his bones. I am bone. A broken spirit. He looks at his hand.

I need flesh. You do not make it. Yes. Yes, I know. But can I move? Part of him does. First a hand then a whole limb. Precious humerus. Funny bone. Haha. It’s not funny, Ben. It’s not funny, no. Pull yourself together, kid. Don’t cry unless you mean it.

Look at you.

In the night and in the cold and in the howl of the wind, there are voices. Not his own. You need a voice box to speak. Lungs to breathe. Air passes through and your vocal cords vibrate. That is speaking. He is silent. Dark and Light. These are things. A body. What is a body? It is yours.

His hand moves. And his arm. It comes back to join him. There is an echo through his ribs. An echo in the space where he sits. Where he lies. His eye can only see among the shadows, what is real, what is not, what is in its line of vision.

You have a mind. Don’t you see? You have a mind of your own.

Let me think.

There is no time for that. You must feel.

But it hurts. I feel nothing. It hurts not to feel.

Oh Force.

Yes, the Force. Use the Force.

(What do you mean?)

* * *

"That’s not how it works, kid."

He ignores the man. There are parts that he must find. Maybe a knee today. A knee would be good. Then he could bend and stretch and he could climb everything.

Piece of junk.

"Watch the language!"

The man frowns, exaggerates, creases up his whole face. Sharp brow and long nose and a jagged scar across his chin. How did it get there?

"Are you done yet?"

Am I done? I am not ready.

Scraps of metal and good flesh. Shards of bone. A broken crystal. So much to prize and still to find. The day is young. It will not wait for the old night. He can see it now, the bright white sun that gazes down. Eye to the sky. Through the twisted limbs, exposed ribs (just like him), in the empty shell of a long dead machine. Sand coats its insides. Gets in everything. Wrap your arms and your face. Stay covered to stay cool. Stay away from the sun. Scavenge at first light or as the light is fading. The light is not your friend.

Are you my friend?

The man shrugs. "I won’t say no to a copilot."

Copilot? Yes, if I could fly. If I could move. Yes. Would you take me? Can we fly away from here?

With a nod, he agrees.

There are parts to the machine he has discovered but most stay unexplored. Too light and too dark. He stays in between. Catches moisture in a trap before dawn. Water is scarce. It does not exist. He cannot spit. Does not shed a tear. Amasses and reuses all that he can. Same for the rags that wrap around his arms and his head, hang stitched to his torso and over his good leg.

I am a desert creature.

Portions. How many portions?

He is not hungry. He is not thirsty. Bone and sand and steel dressed in shadow.

"Let’s go," Ben says.

* * *

"Do you know who you are?"

A child in a mask. Somebody’s heir. Somebody’s son. Somebody’s killer.

"Don’t look at me like that," the man says.

Ben doesn’t know how he looks. He knows that his name is Ben. He knows the desert. He knows the sand and the winds and the parts of the machine. And a force that moves around him. Inside him. In his head.

It has been a good haul. A brand-new leg. Enough fabric to mend his cloak. And a special gift. A large black cross wrapped in red wires. It sits in his hand and it feels like a part of him. What does it do?

Don’t you see?

He sees a button and he presses it. The insides screech. Red light emerges. A hissing glow. A sword of wondrous red. He grabs the beam with his hand and watches as charred fingers fall to the ground.

"That’s not a toy," the man says.

"I can see that." He gathers his fingers up, tells them where they’re meant to be. He can do this in only seconds when it had at first taken two weeks. But it has been so long now.

"Who’s keeping count?"

"I am." Ben holds the sword not-toy and hot red light. It illuminates his home. An angled hull. He makes his mark. He makes a mark bigger and better than all the others. How many days? He starts to count. It will be easier like this with this red sword not-toy. Why does he count? What do you wait for? Who waits for you?

_Whomever you are waiting for—_

Where? What did you say?

 _—they're never coming back._  
  
I like the desert, he thinks. I like it here. I can wait.

_(But there's someone who still could.)_

"Don’t get too comfortable, kid."

He does not sleep, not anymore, just lies in the sand and counts the seconds like the stars.

* * *

"This is my favorite."

"What is it?"

"I don’t know."

He loves the sword not-toy but this piece is special. A twisted case of metal around a ragged crystal. He did not find it, but it did find him. It called his name and so he kept it. He is keeping it for somebody, maybe.

Beautiful, he thinks. Who did you belong to?

He looks up. The man is gone. There is nothing but the carcass of a gargantuan ship, the gaping mouth in its hull on the edge of which Ben sits. Light fades and he watches, eye following the flickering visage of a small gray bird that chases the setting sun.

Time passes like sand, like shifting desert; it moves constantly. The man is gone. Scoundrel, he thinks. I will miss you. Do you still need a copilot? We could fly like birds. Like a falcon. However long it takes. In less than twelve parsecs.

(I wish we had more time.)

_Ben._

He lifts his head and sees a shadow looming, dark and tall. A strange voice behind a mask.

"My boy," this new voice says, "It’s time to wake up now."

I’m not ready, he thinks.

"You are. Don’t be afraid. You are strong, remember? You are stronger than me. And that brave, kind girl, she needs you. Can you go to her?"

"Go where?"

"You’ll know the place."

"I only know this place."

"She knows it too. You are children of dunes. You belong together."

"Who?"

(What girl?)

"You know her name, Ben. You know it."

There is a girl. (Where is your heart?) There is a girl from a desert and she’s seen the map. The droid showed it her. You, a scavenger. I am a scavenger too.

There is a girl. Who is the girl?

(The girl I’ve heard so much about.)

I feel the conflict in you.

_Ben._

She said my name. She said my name and I came back to life. I could see. I could hear. I could feel, torrid and harsh as a desert.

The man in the mask says a name.

"Rey."

I know you. I know who your parents are.

I know.

(It is you.)

His knees give way, metal and bone alike.

Rey. Oh Rey.

The sky is dark. The sand is cold. The wind cries and Ben cries with it.

My Rey. My wife. Our blood is one. Where have you gone?

A girl in a forest. So afraid. He had pressed inside her mind and she had pressed right back.

I’ll help you.  
  
How can you help me? What have I done? What am I doing here?  
  
The ground shakes, and the air clouds, an immense storm of sand and grief and pain.  
  
I will find you.  
  
(I will always find you.)

And he did. The bond restored. Standing in a throne room, she had fought like the fiercest warrior. In glorious rage. She knew his lies. She reached out for him. A falling ship and flames. She was dragged away. She was taken by his brothers. He lost her and there was nothing, only light and heat and pain and darkness.

Ben remembers. He remembers everything and the storm grows louder. He is born. He is lost again. Memories flood inside just as his tears flood the desert. Precious water. I waste this for you. What have I done? What am I?  
  
You are a monster.  
  
Yes, I am.  
  
(Say it.)  
  
Why did you kill your father?  
  
I killed my father. I killed him.  
  
(Say it.)  
  
You are no Vader. You’re just a child in a mask.  
  
Yes, I am.  
  
Take off that mask. You don’t need it.  
  
What do you think you’ll see if you do?  
  
The face of my son.  
  
I had a father and I killed him. I had a wife and she is gone.  
  
Maker.  
  
Rey.  
  
The Force surges inside him. It powers the storm.  
  
The Force is not a power you have. It’s not about lifting rocks. It’s the energy between all things, a tension, a balance, that binds the universe together.  
  
Yes, I understand now.  
  
(Say it.)  
  
My love.  
  
My heart.  
  
I will find you.  
  
I will find you again.  
  
The desert shifts. It breaks apart. Great waves tossing aside, the sand does his bidding. Desert child. We are children of dunes. He knows. Yes, he knows. Life and Death. Light and Darkness. Every grain like a soul. I absorb the dead. I am Death. I am dead now. But you have saved me. You have made me again. Let me return the favor.  
  
On his hands and scavenged knees, a whole world in his eye, the universe no more than a grain of sand. He can see. He can feel it. The Force in everything. A whole year. Millions of seconds. I have waited. I was waiting for this.  
  
With the Force around him and inside him, Ben lets himself sleep; he meditates. And he dreams.

* * *

_Kira crosses over heaping vines and down a narrow path. She knows where she is going now, though she does not know why. Her steps are sure, her resolve is firm. She climbs around a partially decayed structure, and it opens into a clearing. She sees the waterfall. She sees boulders like chairs around a felled tree._

_A figure sits there. Kira freezes. She dares not breathe in the desperate hope that she has not been seen. But the figure shifts. Its hooded head raises as if it can catch her scent. Draped wholly in black, now it stands, immense as a mountain, every part of it obscured._

_I know you, she thinks, and cold horror floods her body._

_Here is the monster of my dreams._

"Who are you?"

Kira wills her voice not to shake. The monster turns towards her. Its shroud of black is a patchwork thing, shredded and poorly stitched together, like a beggar, like a hermit. What are you? she thinks. It hangs its hooded head, emits a pitiful, near mournful sound as if it is has been gravelly injured. Yet Kira has not hurt it. And it has not hurt her, has made no move to attack. Is it afraid? What is it afraid of?

Me?

"Are you—?"

"Nobody." The voice is low and somehow pained. "I am nobody."

"I am Kira," she says.

The monster turns away and lifts a great boulder, smashing it down with enough force that she can feel the ground shake. It howls with a scream that rends the air.

"Stop!" she says. "Don’t do that!"

The monsters stills. Its folds into itself, disguising its considerable bulk into something lesser, like a chastised child. "I am sorry," it finally says.

It is on its knees, a humbled figure, unthreatening now. Long arms lift up from beneath the black shroud and Kira can see the shape of hands, large and wrapped in dirtied bandages; at the end of each finger, a tip of bone protrudes. "You are afraid of me."

"Yes."

She is afraid. He will eat her. He will hurt her. He will go inside her head and take her memories away, the so few she has left. It is as Alec says it happened. She must preserve herself.

"Why are you in this place?" she says.

"Do you not remember?"

Don’t do this. Don’t make me forget again. She holds her ground. "Please stop it. Please just leave me alone."

"I will not hurt you."

"Liar!"

Kira runs. Bare feet pounding against warm, wet earth. Vines and long branches brushing her face, scratching her skin, dampening her with their slicks of moisture. She can hardly see and she is breathing too hard but she will not stop. She will not let him catch her.

She is running to the white glow of light up ahead. It is safe in the light. She is not safe, has not been for so long, and all she wants is to be held, to find the memory of comfort. Strong arms that had promised to always protect her. Another dream that has slipped through her outstretched fingers, always too far out of reach, lost like everything else she cannot remember.

The light grows brighter. She is so close, pushing and reaching out, her hands dragging back vines so that she can be free.

Kira stumbles onto the edge of a cliff standing higher than clouds, what lies below blocked out by a blanket of mist. She is falling. Her body goes over the edge.

Then it stops.

She turns back to see the towering figure of the monster, one bandaged, bony hand wrapped tight around her wrist.

She did not hear him chase her. She could not see before but now its hood has fallen back.

There is a patch of dark hair that hangs loose and seems to cover one eye, but the rest of the head is ruined. A pale scalp of gnarled skin that might just be skull. Another eye watches without the confine of eyelids, round and white and injected with blood. The skin is gone in so many places. Pink tapes of muscle tug over one cheek, and bare teeth lay exposed. On the side of the face beneath the hair, there is still skin dotted with moles as once a man’s might have been. But the eye underneath? The hair moves as the monster exhales and an empty socket stares back. She thinks of Alec and his elegant mask of metal and the preserved skin of the rest; he is beautiful still but this is beyond comprehension of one who can live, who should survive.

How? she thinks. How?

She wants to scream, her eyes drawn down as the cloak shifts back with its rhythmic movements and a broad chest appears. More scarred skin and fibered planes of muscle, but on the left there are just ribs. She can see slats of bone, white with dark stripes between looking in, inside his chest; she can see it. But a heart? Where is his heart?

Kira tries to scream, but no sound will come out. Her body will not move, hanging by the tether of a skeletal hand. Hanging by a tether; the monster pulls her back, draws her near. Into its arms. Into its broken and empty chest, the cloak falling around her like curtains that blackout everything.

"I’ve got you." You are safe, it does not say.

But Kira is struggling. The grit of sand and the smell of death, of Darkness closing in around her.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

"REY!"

The monster vanishes and she is falling once more, tumbling through wet mist that clings like tears, that demonic yell echoing inside her head.

Who is Rey? Who is Rey?

Kira lands upon a mattress and sits up from beneath its sheets. She is back in her bed in her room, soaked by sweat and pale with cold and deaf to the sound of her own terrified screaming.


	51. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Lord be praised, I finally managed to write something. No guessing as to an upcoming posting schedule for fear of jinxing it. But I'm still here, doing my thing. <3
> 
> Warnings in this chapter: Amnesia-related trauma; psychological grooming and general creepiness and despicability from Alec. On the upside? A bit of punch-drunk levity, and a spark of hope.

"Whom shall we send  
In search of this new world, whom shall we find  
Sufficient?"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

 

_**One week earlier, on Moraband…** _

 

"We have a problem."

"Oh?"

"You have sensed it."

"Yes."

"Yes, I know—"

"It is the boy—"

"The Force—"

"Abomination—"

"Fools!"

Dust settles in the tomb. The voices of a dozen dead Lords settle after. Millenia of knowledge and power reduced to unheard whispers. It is a tragedy that trounces all over that of the hubristic Darth Plagueis the Wise.

Wise? There was wisdom once. A simple system and supremely elegant for it. Strength came through secrecy and patience and humility even, yes. One rule for all to follow.

But now that rule has been broken. The Rule of Two failed when it multiplied. Desecrated. Once a tool to ensure the survival of the Dark Side, the Force has mutated. Evolution decrees that it must. No more Jedi. Without Light, power hungers.

"My generosity was in error," Darth Bane decides.

The Lords all murmur. They are tired in their deaths. Spirits without occupation. There was a chance. Not long after Vader. A single breath in the scheme of wretched life. Eternity is too long an existence to waste any more time.

"Wake him."

A body rests on a stone dais. Scarred and dusty, it has slept for a year. Preserved, the strange patterns are still there, signs of Dark and Light, confusion when order had once reigned supreme. But there is use to this flesh. A chance for exploration.

"What is his name?"

"What does it matter?"

"Wake him."

Shadows swirl and draw the cobwebs back like lace sheets, remove the blanket of dust. Rise and shine, faithful servant. Boy of Dark and Light. Do not be confused. I will tell you. Yes. You will do my bidding. You and I. One and two.

It will work once more.

"Rise—"

"What is his name?"

"Rise—"

"My Lord—"

" _You._ "

The floor of the chamber trembles. The body moves. Involuntarily at first, but arms lift, the chest grows. Lips part to drawn in breath, stale and putrid. Yes, my boy. Rise.

The body does. A man. Ugly and forgotten.

He is perfect, Darth Bane thinks.

* * *

Ben is pulled from the dream.

Wrenched violently. The Force is punishing him. The blasted Force. There is clear sky overhead, so bright it glows white; it blinds him. He gasps and his head bumps against sand, a rhythmic thudding. He has a headache. And his leg, the good one with its original parts. Something twists and clamps around it, keeps hold of his ankle.

He is being dragged.

"Are you awake?" The voice is gruff. It grunts, keeps tugging him. "No matter. Though it was better when you slept."

Ben’s body slides over dunes, sand chaffing and getting in his eyes and his hair. The sky is still too bright. "Who are you?"

"I must take you to Moraband."

"Moraband?" Ben chases a memory that won't be caught. "What is Moraband? Why did you—?"

A particularly violent thud and his mouth in full of sand.

"You should speak less," the voice advises.

"Do I know you?"

Another grunt. "I know no one."

Rey, Ben thinks. He must find Rey.

Another desert mouthful; Ben coughs and splutters. He thrashes about, attempting to dislodge his foot from his captor. He only succeeds in loosening his boot. "Let go!"

"They said you were a man."

"I was—I am!" Ben is indignant now.

"You are a corpse."

"Then leave! I must find—"

"I have my orders."

"Who _are_ you?" Ben tries to struggle. His leg is dropped and the voice looms close.

"I can make you sleep." A large glowing saber like a club; Ben blinks into its light. A saber, he thinks. Where is my saber?

His hand reaches out and the Force obeys. An object spins and slices through the sky into his palm. He hits the button.

Hissing, happy creature. Old friend. The saber clashes with the club. Ben struggles to stand. A large man, tattooed and muscled, frowns at him.

"You really don’t look well," he says.

Memories still evade him, cloud his head like fog. They pull back from the edges, unwilling to come forward. I know you, Ben thinks. The blue-marked beast tilts his head, as if considering him.

"Malaak?" Ben says, not quite sure where the word comes from.

The man only grimaces. "Speak clearer. Or Basic. I do not know this tongue."

The fog recedes, and the man is there. Younger, hopeful; they are sitting beneath a large tree. Students. A temple burning. Servants of Light, then Darkness. Until the power was theirs. A new empire.

A friend.

"Malaak!" Ben drops his guard, only to have his shoulder nearly whacked off. He blocks the club on instinct. "I thought you must be dead. How did you find me?"

"My master sent me."

Another whack. "What master? _I_ was your master."

"I know you not."

"Of course you do." Malaak swings and Ben blocks. "Stop this. We are wasting time. I need to find Rey."

"You are to come with me."

"Where? To Moraband? Is she there? Tell me!"

"There is no time."

"Why don’t you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"I will not fight you, Malaak. Not like this."

"Then you will come with me!"

"No!"

Sabers clash once more. The impact makes Ben stagger. Malaak is strong, as strong as ever. A huge fist collides with Ben’s jaw. It breaks and hangs from his skull. He cannot speak. He can see stars. Ow, he thinks. Ow! Not pain but that hurt. My pride is sore.

"Do not resist again."

He lies on his back. He does not remember that he fell. But Malaak takes hold of his ankle, the bad one this time, the false leg of reused flesh and recycled gears and wire. Malaak pulls and he drags.

"You are light."

He drags only the leg away.

Taking his chance, Ben crawls. He hurries after, waiting for a moment when Malaak will look back.

There is a roar when he does. "What is this?!" Ben throws his arms around the great man’s ankles, squeezes until he crumples to the sand. An ungainly heap of broken men; Ben is punched and kicked. "Let go!"

A paw against his face pushes hard until Ben’s jaw threatens to come fully off.

Just go to sleep, Ben thinks. Sleep! He shouts at the Force until it obeys. Lazy, good for nothing… now you bother? Malaak slumps, unconscious in the sand. Ben slumps too, his head landing against Malaak’s chest, where he can hear the steady beating of a heart.

I am sorry, my friend. I am sorry, Ben thinks, then pulls himself back together.

* * *

Strong arms hold her. 

Kira pushes them away, fighting to escape the monster.

"Shh," a voice whispers. "You’re safe now. I'm here."

She opens her eyes. The blue eye of her Beloved stares back. His metal one too. They hold her in place; they ground her.

"Alec," she cries, confessing his name as she collapses in his arms. She lets herself be held as she sobs, and is cradled like a child.

"You're safe," he whispers again. The arms around her tighten. "Was it the same dream?"

Was it? she thinks. The same shadow but with a mangled face, a mutilated form. A grotesque monster, far worse than anything the darkness could imagine. It had stalked her through a forest like a hunter. Prowling, determined to catch her scent. If only she'd had a blaster, if only—

"It was worse," she says.

"You can tell me," Alec breathes the words against her hair and she does. Recounts in vivid detail the moments of their encounter, of the monster's desperation to attack, of her determination to get away. She tells him everything, right to the point where he called her—

"Kira?" Alec pulls back. "What is it?"

There is something that gives her pause. A weight to this word. _Rey_. She does not wish to share. It feels too secret; too profane. She is ashamed of it. She makes the decision in a heartbeat, the only evidence a flicker of uncertainty across her face.

"Nothing," she lies. Her first to him. Her first ever, for all she knows. Alec hesitates, as if he saw something for a moment only to have it disappear. A tremor flows between them; the bond is disturbed. She feels his pull to follow the mystery, and she does not want him to. For reasons she cannot explain, she does not want the bond to follow here, does not want to lay all her thoughts and feelings bare.

Another voice enters her mind. Not with words but with instinct; a primal order she obeys before giving herself a chance to question.

Kira licks her lips. Slowly.

Alec's eyes follow the movement and the myriad of emotions inside him shift in unison and focus on that point. Then his eyes stray lower, to where her nightgown has slipped from one shoulder.

They have not been intimate since the Ordeal. Since before she can remember. And Alec has never pressed her, never so much as for even one kiss. She understands that he has been waiting for her to be ready; she appreciates his patience. But there is no denying the emotion inside him now.

It would be so easy, a part of her thinks. To seek solace and comfort. Be a woman again, a wife in every sense. But the monster's face hovers between them and so she pulls back.

Alec does too, shaking himself out of that fearful reverie. "I shall have Ursa stay in your rooms at night. You should not be alone—"

"It is not necessary," she argues.

"It is. I will not have you live in fear."

"But—"

"Please," he says. "Unless you'd rather have someone else?" Hope creeps into his expression, even though she can feel him trying to claw it back into place.

"Ursa is fine."

Alec nods, his smile containing only the faintest hint of disappointment. "Your wish is my command."

* * *

The Unnamed Servant of Darkness and Scion of the Great and Terrible Sith Lord Darth Bane (of Moraband) wakes to find himself in a cave.

No, not a cave, he decides, blinking as his eyes adjust. There are durasteel beams that curve along the edges, the ribcage of a fallen beast. Holes pepper through it and form an especially large opening through which he can see his ship parked in the far distance, rendered against the setting suns in dark silhouette.

He is bound with durasteel bands as well. Six of them fashion a crude cage around him, pinning his arms to his torso and his legs together, positioned so that he is forced to sit up and watch as the Corpse paces before him. His doing, no doubt, the Unnamed Scion thinks; it reeks of the Force, of unspeakable Darkness and the power of the dead, things the Unnamed Scion is not familiar with.

The Corpse pauses mid-stride, sensing that his audience is awake.

"Malaak?"

"I know not that name."

"You _are_ that name," the Corpse says. "You have merely forgotten." He kneels down until their eyes (or what eye the corpse has left) are level. "What happened to you?" he says. And then, with urgency: "Where is Rey?"

"I know not of this Rey."

"I left you to protect her!"

Winds howl and the metallic shell rattles. The Unnamed Scion just stares back. Bane cannot hold him responsible if the prize has gone mad, he thinks. Mad and rotted, like a piece of rancid flesh. Energy is spiking across the Corpse now, an unsatisfactory reaction and the Unnamed Scion thinks that Bane will most certainly be displeased if he can't deliver the Corpse without killing him.

(Or if he wont shut up about someone named Rey.)

"Who is this Rey?" the Scion asks.

The Corpse makes a face; the Scion hopes he never does it again. "You should know. She once beat you within an inch of your life for kicking her."

The Scion scowls. " _She?_ A she would never do such a thing. There is no one who can beat me." At the Corpse's raised brow (his only good one), the Scion shrugs. "I let you capture me."

"It was very convincing."

"You are wanted alive."

"By whom?"

"My master."

"And who is that? Hux? Magess?" The Corpse's good eye is spitting fire now. "What have they done to you? What have they done to her?!"

"I know not of those you speak. I serve only the most powerful. I serve the Lords of Moraband."

The Corpse scoffs. "The Lords of Moraband are a myth. We used to read them as bedtime stories, Malaak. Don't you remember?"

"I remember only my mission. The Rule of Two has been broken. You have upset the Force and must be examined. My master would have your power."

The Corpse stares at him for a long time. "Plagueis is dead. I consumed him."

"Plagueis is not my master."

"Bane then?" The Corpse is mystified. "He's real?"

"His spirit is strong."

The Corpse appears mildly impressed. "Remarkable," he says. "And Bane sent you here."

The Scion— _Malaak_ , he reminds himself, for it would be best to humor this strange, dead creature—shifts uncomfortably in his bonds. "Yes. And if you'd release me I can take you to him and fulfill my purpose."

The Corpse sits crossed-legged before him. "Not a chance," he says. "You interrupted something important."

"Concerning this Rey of yours?"

"Yes, concerning Rey. She is all there is. The only concern you once knew. And if you aspire to live any longer, you would do well to remember."

Malaak decides to play along. "Who was she to me? What did I used to call her?"

"My Lady," the Corpse replies.

"And what should I call you? My Lord?" Malaak wants to laugh.

The Corpse is sad for a moment. "Call me Ben," he says at last. "Call me Ben, my wayward Malaak, for there is no one else to."

* * *

Ursa snores.

Kira thinks she doesn't mind until the second hour and it feels like her brain is rattling around her head from the force of the noise. She retreats to the balcony, where the air is cool and blessedly quiet. Where the stars shine bright over the city of Theed. She curls up in a blanket and leans against the wall and counts them, sensing as she does that this is somehow tradition, that it comes from a place buried deep inside.

She cannot say the exact moment she falls asleep. She cannot say but she knows, for she is traveling; a long journey she takes without moving. A desert. A helmet. Propped against a great steel beast. She counts stars here too. Marks on walls. She blinks, and the desert is gone. She stands in a room in a castle with bathtub the size of a bed. There are drops of water in the tub and she reaches out to touch them. The scene changes again. A blood-red room and the sense that she has been left behind. She must escape; she wrenches the door open, runs down flights of stairs until there is no light, only darkness and the cold stone beneath her bare feet. Her eyes close and when they open, she is in a dusty, cavernous room. A library. She stares at its fire. The nightgown she wears is white and thin and there is much less to it than the one she normally wears. She feels a presence behind her and she knows. She just  _knows_. She grabs the brass poker and spins on her heel.

The monster sits on the room's long sofa. His cloak is drawn; he is more shadow than creature in this light.

"Don't move," she says.

He tilts his head. "You have no need of that with me."

"I'll be the judge of that."

He says nothing, and a thought beats in her heart, floods through her veins; she cannot resist it.

"You will tell me something," she says.

"I will tell you anything."

She is shaking. The words escape in a rush, before she has the chance to stop them:

"Who is Rey?"


	52. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Two weeks in a row! I think I might die from happiness. <3
> 
> Warnings in this chapter: Amnesia-related trauma; background mentions of psychological grooming and general creepiness. On the upside? There is talking. And, just maybe, the beginnings of self-discovery and reclamation.

"So forcible within my heart I feel  
The bond of nature draw me to my own"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

_"Who is Rey?"_

Kira clutches the poker like a sword. Not that she's ever held a sword (or has the faintest idea what to do with one if she did), but she refuses to let that show. She will kill him if he tries to attack; she is so tired of living in fear.

But the monster does not attack. He only stares at her, his large form outlined against the sofa. She can see his shoulders hunch ever so slightly, see the hood of his cowl tip down.

"Someone I lost," he says quietly.

She raises the makeshift sword; she will not lose her nerve. "And is that why you hunt me?"

The hood lifts. "I hunt you?"

"Every moment," she confesses. "Every shadow, I hear your footsteps. Wake to the sound of my own screams."

The monster shakes his head. "I have only seen you in one dream. The jungle. You fell and I caught you—"

"You called me Rey."

"My mistake," he says. "You are clearly not her."

"I'm—" for some reason Kira is annoyed. "What makes you say that?"

"She would know me."

"You," Kira makes a face. "Her lover is a corpse?"

"A monster," he says.

"You remind me of someone too."

"Who?"

"The one who took everything from me. Who stole my memories and nearly killed my Beloved. Who tried to destroy me."

"Why?" the monster asks.

Kira lowers her sword. "I don't know," she tells him. "My Beloved would say for my power. I am the last of my kind."

"What kind?"

"I… don't know."

This time, his words are the ones that drip sarcasm. "Is your _Beloved_ not one for explanations?"

"He—" Kira stumbles for the truth, her hesitancy betraying doubt. The doubt itself feels like a betrayal, and she must settle for, "He desires only to protect me."

"By lying?"

"Not lying."

"A sin of omission then."

"I—"

"Who are you?" the monster says.

I am Kira, she thinks. I am a princess locked in a tower. My husband is a prince with a metal face and he rules a universe I am never allowed to see. "I am no one," she says.

"That is not true. To someone, you are everything."

"How would you know?"

"I loved once," the monster says. "I love still."

"You are a hologram stuck in my brain."

"Perhaps."

"What is wrong with your voice?"

"Nothing. It is a voice."

"It echoes," she tells him. "It sounds different than before."

"I thought an alternative form might be helpful."

"Let me see."

He leans into the firelight, and Kira’s breath catches. Whatever she saw before, he is truly a creature of darkness now. He is covered in black, from the toes of his boots to the fingers of his gloves. His face is covered too. No longer can she see the skeletal form, exposed teeth and jaw, missing hair and missing eye, that wholly ravaged countenance. A smooth black mask now conceals his features. Even his eyes are a fathomless pit, a visor outlined in rings of faint chrome armor.

"Less terrifying," he says.

"You have exchanged one horror for another."

"Why do you fear the dark?" he says.

"Why do you not?"

"The Dark is not at fault for its nature, no more than the Light."

"So the monster is a philosopher?"

"No. Just a creature in a mask."

They fall into silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Its embers burn low, and Kira grows weary; she is cold. She sits on the floor with her back to the hearth, drinking in the warmth of the flames. She places her sword to the side.

"Tell me of her," she says.

The monster’s head tilts. Strange how a mask can be so expressive. "Of whom?" he says.

"This Rey."

"Why would you wish to know?"

"I have no memory of myself. I am a blank slate."

"And you would hear of someone else?"

"It is better than nothing." She draws her knees up, rests her chin on one hand. "Tell me why I am not her."

The monster does not speak for a long time. "She was a warrior," he says finally. "The last of her kind too."

She sounds powerful, Kira thinks, and is jealous of this lost woman. "And I suppose her beauty was greater than a thousand stars—"

"A thousand _suns_ ," the monster corrects.

"And her hair was a river of silk—"

"Sable, actually."

"—and she loved you with all the force of time itself."

"Truth be told, she rather hated me."

Kira's brows raise.

"At first," the monster says, and if a forbidding metal visage could smirk, it would.

"You toy with me."

"A terrible habit, I assure you."

She finds herself smiling back. "I am beginning to sympathize with this Rey."

"You don't want to hear about how her voice was the sound of crystalline bells? How honey dripped from her every word?"

"I hope she hit you over the head. Often."

"She did."

Kira laughs, something she has not done in the short time she can remember, and the noise is so startling, she jumps. She chides herself, feeling ashamed. Such weakness, she thinks. What a worthless little coward you are.

Her next words are aimed at her feet. "I suppose she wasn't afraid of anything."

"Everyone is afraid of something."

"Even the perfect Rey?"

"She was not perfect." The revelation is made fondly. "No one is without flaw. But she endured, despite her fear."

"What did she fear?"

"Being left behind," the monster says. And then, softly: "A fate from which I should have spared her." There is a sadness that hangs heavy in his words.

"I am sorry," Kira says.

"Me too." Silence settles between them once more. "But as for the rest," he says, ages later it seems, "she feared very little. Not even Death itself." Here his voice hums with pride.

"I envy her," Kira says.

"You are not so different."

Kira's laugh is bitter. "In this you should not jest."

"I do not. You are both kind."

Warmth suffuses her, not from the dying fire but from the monster’s simple statement. It is not weakness to be kind. She is good. She is worthy. She has something deemed commendable in common with the formidable Rey.

Kira hears something in the distance. A tinkling of wind-chimes she realizes are birds. It is time to go.

"Will I see you again?" she asks, getting to her feet. The monster rises as well. Even with the space that separates them, he towers over her.

"If I am merely a part of your brain, then I would think so."

"But if you are not," Kira bites her lip, "would you return?"

"You'd wish that of a monster?"

She cannot meet his gaze. "I have few friends," she confesses.

"Then I shall return."

She smiles again. A real one this time that stretches her mouth and scrunches her eyes. "Thank you. But I must go now. My husband will be expecting me."

She hears the creaking of leather. "Then I shall not keep you."

"Until next time."

"Until next time," the monster says.

* * *

The corpse has been meditating for hours. He sits, long legs folded beneath the tattered rags of his cloak. Bony hands rest on his knees. Sand and scattered debris hover around him, swirling in a secret current that Malaak cannot see.

But he senses something. Tired and bored. Dehydrated. The sun has moved high overhead and the cadaverous hull of this ship a cadaver calls home is now flooded with daylight. Malaak sweats beneath his restraints, skin damp and mouth dry. The strange creature remains unaltered. Until the sand settles and the debris drops.

Finally, the corpse stirs.

A hand reaches out and the fearsome black cross of his saber flies into his hand. He ignites it and stalks over to a pile of scrap metal. And then he screams. Like an animal in pain. He strikes and he strikes and he strikes again, wailing in inconsolable anger, until only a molten heap is left.

Malaak watches, unmoved.

"I take it that went well?" he says.

The corpse only screams louder. He drives his fist into a wall, making a dent even as his bones shatter.

"Ben?" Malaak tries.

"I will kill him!"

"Who?"

"HER HUSBAND!"

"Oh." Now Malaak sees. "So this is about a woman?" It always is. That seems familiar, a universal truth that he carries even if no particular experience can be recalled. "Women are trouble," he says wisely. This Malaak knows as sure as he draws breath.

He does draw breath, then: "Can we go to Moraband now?"

"I am not going anywhere. Neither are you. Think!" The saber points as an accusing finger. "Why can’t you remember? What has happened to you?"

"You expect a lot from a man on the brink of death. I need water."

The saber lowers. "I am…" The corpse looks around, his one eye squinting in the light. "How long was I gone for?"

"Hours. I don’t know."

"Forgive me." He goes to a part of the ship still cast in shadow. Malaak can hear clanking and muttered curses. The monster returns. "I am sorry, my friend," he says. Ben, Malaak reminds himself.

Ben kneels and holds a tin cup to his lips. "Drink." Malaak does. The liquid is tepid and has an unpleasant taste.

"You call that water?" Malaak says. "It tastes like my boot sweat."

"It is all there is." Ben sits down beside him. "I caught what moisture I could in the night and stored it. I do not seem to thirst like I once did."

"And what of food?"

"I do not eat."

"Sleep?"

"Only when I’m meditating."

"You are a monster."

"It has been said before."

"Abomination!"

The word echoes in Malaak’s head, rattles and bounces around the dome of his skull. It has been said before. It has been said.

"What do you remember, Malaak?"

"Not a lot," he admits.

"Can I see?"

A bony hand reaches towards him; Malaak pulls away as best he can in his restraints. "What are you doing?"

"I can read your mind, if you will let me. I might be able to unlock something that will help."

"Why should I trust you? It is a trick!"

"I was your friend. I am still your friend. And I need your help more than perhaps you need mine. Something is wrong in the Force, don’t you see?"

"I see. It is you!"

"Maybe. But there are other parts too. The living parts. The Light."

"Why should I help you?"

"The Malaak I know would not question the need, only act with an awesome selflessness. I am not selfless. I beg you."

This version of the being called Malaak appeals to him. He is guided by something more ancient and powerful than his dead Sith Lord master. "Alright," he says.

Ben moves to sit before him. The bony fingers return and come to rest atop his head.

"Quiet, Malaak. There is only the Force. The Force is with me and it flows through you and it will lead us to where we are going. Close your eyes."

Malaak does. There is a prodding in his skull, like the cracking of an egg. And the rest of him blows wide open.

* * *

Pular hears screaming.

He hears it through the Force.  
  
The girl is unstable. Her power is too great. Whatever spell Alec had the Sith Lords cast, it will not endure in its current state. You cannot contain the raging heart of a star. Like an armed bomb with a hidden timer, no pretty dress or pleasant words can stop the explosion that is sure to come.  
  
Alec plays with fire. He always has. He is drawn to heat, all those bright and brilliant flames. How he looked up to Kylo, so seemingly dark and so intense, full of words that came to echo hollow, the same as his uncle’s. They sounded beautiful once; Pular listened for a time.  
  
(He always heard screaming.)  
  
He might have fallen in love not with words but a face. Drawn not to heat but to perfect cold. The Force glowed white around Alec, pure in its essence, yearning. It blinded Pular in an instant. This is how you hide, he thought; you are too hard to look at. Yet even as it hurt his eyes, all Pular could do was stare.  
  
His eyes have grown accustomed. And his ears. He perceives through the Force. Always his gift, a polysensory type of synesthesia (Kylo’s words, they did not echo back then). It grew into something that he could use, not to give but to take. Six months lying in a coma, the Force drew thick around him like a second skin, like plates of armor. When he woke, there was nothing left of his flesh, but all it took was one touch of that vile Jedi’s arm.  
  
Her power poured into him and he sensed its vastness, terrifying as space, wild and unknown. Boundless like the rage that bubbled inside Kylo. Bombs. They are two bombs and Kylo exploded. Something resounds in the Force where he once stood, haunting, mournful sounds. And the girl. They changed the outer shell, wiped clean and relaid the surface of her mind, but the insides, oh the insides. Don’t they know?  
  
Alec, you have created this problem. You are playing with stars.  
  
Ersn and Vadanav enter the room where Pular sits, in an overly adorned parlor at odds with their plain white robes. Incongruous garb. All is incongruous now at Alec’s bidding, like his fake face and artificial eye, like the mechanical arm and leg with hissing hydraulics that score Vadanav’s movements, like the strange silence of Ersn, his throat crushed and voice forever altered (he speaks now mostly in his head). She has marked them all. Scarred by shrapnel. And such a small detonation. She will obliterate them into dust one of these days.  
  
"Morning," Vadanav says (the loss of limbs means words now speak louder for him). He slouches on a couch, eyes trailing his lover; Pular does not hear what is said. Then:  
  
_We cannot go on like this._  
  
Ersn is studying a bowl of fruit, tossing a piece up and down in one hand. He looks at his brothers.  
  
"No," Pular agrees. "She is too unstable. He cannot control her."  
  
Vadanav lifts one already high arched brow. "Do you tell him this?"  
  
"He does not wish to listen."  
  
_But—_ Ersn begins.  
  
"Even me. Especially me," Pular says. "The truth disturbs him. He is deaf to it, blind to what we see. He believes the fantasy as much as _her_." Here he spits the word.  
  
"What would you do?" Vadanav says. Ersn bites into the fruit, chewing slowly. They both wait for an answer.

"Did I tell you the story of my overseer’s pet muttamok? Ugly, mangy thing. It was trained to guide me and the other children to where the shiniest minerals were located for mining. But it stole from us too. Old Duman loved it dearly. He’d hand-feed it fruit when it brought him our treasures, worthless trinkets that he hoarded and held us to ransom with. You see the muttamok are Force-sensitive creatures. That’s how I knew I was too. I could sense its dumb loyalty to the man. So I played. I tested. I made it my friend and convinced it to steal back from Duman. Then Luke showed up and I got taken away. But the Force had tied it to me. It had forgotten what the old man meant. And when it could no longer sense me, it turned on him. Mauled Duman until he destroyed it."  
  
_Lovely_ , says Ersn. _Was there a point?_  
  
Vadanav snorts. "You make me feel better about growing up a slave."  
  
"Don’t you see?" Pular says. Can’t you hear it like me? "Who would dare come between a master and his pet?"

* * *

Morning broke without any screams. Only a smile and a warm embrace. _"Thank you for looking after me. All these months. You are so very dear."_ She slept on the balcony, had rejected the blue silk he'd selected in favor of a drab fawn thin-spun and refused the usual hour spent combing and braiding her hair.

A slice of bread for breakfast, and caf. No milk. Refused fruit, even after two offerings.

Ursa is nothing if not meticulous in her recordkeeping.

His wife sits in her garden now, the one he built for her, surrounded by her beloved plants. Alec watches as she aerates the roots of a munn-daisy, her fingers digging into fresh, rich earth. She hums. This is new. The humming.

He can feel the joy in her; joy that he did not create. She senses his presence and smiles at him and he of course smiles back.

"It is good to see her happy."

Pular stands beside him at the balustrade. The whole of Theed stretches out before them, but all Alec can see is her.

"It is," Alec agrees.

"I sensed so much distress but today she seems…" The younger man studies Alec, eventually finding something in his expression Alec didn’t know was there. "Can it be true? Is our little Jedi finally turning?"

It is not my doing, Alec thinks, but he nods. "As I've said, it was only a matter of time."

They watch Kira as she hums to herself, as she gazes upon a rose so red its petals appear black. She smiles; a secret smile this time, one meant only for herself. Alec is painfully aware of her urge to conceal it.

A deceptively delicate hand lands upon his shoulder. "I should never have doubted, Brother," Pular says and his fingers squeeze like knives. "True love will always win in the end."

* * *

Kira can finally breathe.

There is so much joy in leaving that awful shadow behind, in knowing there is nothing that hunts her. The monster she sees… he is disfigured to be sure, but she remembers only his gentleness. He is frightening in form only, she thinks, and smiles at the thought. She feels happy—yes, that's it; a strange, slippery thing. The veil of being afraid has been lifted and now she sees with newborn eyes.

Her Beloved senses her happiness and sets a gentle gaze upon her. Kira smiles at him, and if he thinks that he is the cause of such delight, Kira lets him. She wiles away the afternoon, sits through an interminable dinner with one of Hux's newly dispatched deputies from the Outer Rim, and then claims fatigue when Alec invites her to take wine with him on the terrace. His good mood is not altered; he kisses her forehead as one would a child and she goes obediently to her rooms.

She waits until Ursa is snoring before going out to the balcony. Kira is better prepared this time. She brings two pillows, two blankets, and a canteen of water, and counts the stars in the sky until she falls sleep.

When she wakes, there is warmth.

A red glow permeates the space around her, seeping down to her very bones. Kira shifts closer to it, seeking the source, still half asleep and not ready to surrender to the full reality of the dream. She runs a hand beside her head. She is lying on a warm, smooth surface. Eyes closed, she reaches out until the surface disappears, and the heat becomes far more intense.

"I don't think I'd go much further."

Kira opens her eyes.

She is lying on the edge of a great cliff—a river of lava cuts its way through rocks far below. She lets loose an unholy shriek, scampering back until she collides with a hard wall; more rock she supposes. Beside her the monster watches, amused.

"Sleep well?" he says.

"What is this place?"

The monster looks around. "A castle."

At first, Kira wants to argue. There is nothing but black rock that plunges to the lava below. Then, she looks up.  
  
They are at the base of a tower. Black too and so vanishingly tall, it disappears to a point she cannot see, swallowed by clouds of darkness. A terrifying tower built on the edge of a volcano.

The monster inclines his head. "Would you like to come inside?"

She follows him across a kind of moat, passing underneath the metallic teeth of a huge sliding door until they stand in the center of a black circle, a soaring space surrounded by black all above and the red of lava below.

"Is this your home?" Kira says.

"I haven't lived here in a long time. Do you like it?" he asks, the last almost an afterthought.

"It's very imposing. And…" She struggles for something polite to say. "Warm," she decides.

The monster laughs. "You hate it."

"No, I—" she can't think of how to phrase it. "It frightens me." She is truthful this time.

"There is nothing to fear."

She runs her fingers along the jagged walls. "Does anything grow in this place?"

"Do you like that which grows?"

Kira looks into the depths of his mask, her heart in her eyes. "More than anything."

"Follow me," he says.

They step onto an elevator and he presses the lever to go down. For a moment Kira is transported somewhere else, to another elevator and a faceless man and the whisper of her voice. She blinks, and the vision is gone.

They reach the lowest level, and the doors slide open. They are in a cave now, and she follows the monster as he leads. They pass by a small stream of lava, an offshoot of the raging river she saw earlier, and the monster continues to guide her up a short distance and through a small passage until—

Kira is without words. Here in the gloom of this barren planet, hidden in shadow and trapped in sulfur air, a garden grows. Leaves and vines shoot from the ground, their leaves seemingly rendered black like everything else in the faint glow of lava. Flowers grow nestled among them, strange colors that shimmer like jewels. She stoops to greet them; it's like coming home to lost friends. She sinks to her knees. She wants to hug every one of them.

"It's beautiful," she breathes, playing with delicate stems like the fingers of a baby. "Did you make this?"

There is a peacefulness in how the monster observes her. "It is not a power I possess. It is old magic, and very strong."

"I love it," she says.

"Truly?"

Kira nods emphatically. "You're going to laugh but, sometimes, the plants—I feel like they speak to me."

The monster does not laugh. He settles on his haunches beside her. "What do they say?"

Her fingers learn all the verdant textures. "These are lonely," she says. "They miss the company of the one who made them."

"What else?"

She holds an amber-colored flower-jewel in her hands. "There was a woman," she says. "Long ago. She searches. Her heart is filled with sadness."

"Did she ever find what she was looking for?"

Kira doesn't think, she just asks the flowers in her own way. "They say her cries are softer now, but she still waits for him. She will always wait."

"And the one she waits for?"

Kira pauses. "I do not know. The plants don’t tell me all their stories; only the ones they feel they can share."

"It is a rare gift," he tells her. "To be so closely connected to the living."

A thousand doubts whirl inside her and she is taken by desire that she should finally voice them. "Sometimes I feel as if they want me to help them."

"Help them how?"

"I don’t know. It's as if… there's this energy crying out, but I don't know how to find it."

"It calls to you?"

"Yes!" she says, her whole body responding, as if she has been lit from within. "Can you hear it? Does it call to you too?"

The monster settles onto his knees beside her. "In a way." He holds out a gloved hand. "If I remove this, will you be frightened?"

Yes, she thinks. "No," she says. She's got to stop being afraid. "Go ahead."

He removes the glove, and she takes great pains to control her breathing upon seeing the ruined flesh of his hand. She focuses on only watching as the hand stretches out and hovers over a thick tangle of vines.

"Living things," he tells her, "they do not call to me quite like they call to you." His voice is a whisper. With the gentlest brush he caresses the nearest plant and causes it to shrivel and die.

"You…" she cannot think. The horror of it, the needless waste. But then, another thought: "This is your gift?"

The monster nods.

"The energy," she says, "this is how it speaks to you?"

"All my life," he says.

"Your gift is different than mine."

"But they come from the same place."

Yes, she thinks. They do. Kira presses her lips together. It is a question that's been screaming to get out. "Is it possible… do you think I could learn to control it? Like you did?"

Without shackles, she thinks. Without being strapped to a chair and made to perform.

The monster turns towards her. His body leans forward as he studies her, and she feels herself leaning back.

"You need a teacher," he says at last.

Kira’s heart beats wildly. The birds sing their song in the distance, and she knows it will be morning soon. She plucks the shriveled vine from the earth and offers it to him like a gift.

"When can we start?"


	53. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Is this the third weekly update in a row? *faints*
> 
> Warnings in this chapter: Amnesia-related trauma, and a scene of psychological grooming and manipulation. No sexual-related trauma (nor will there ever be in this fic). On the upside? More talking. Also feels.

"Stand fast; to stand or fall  
Free in thine own arbitrement it lies.  
Perfect within, no outward aid require;  
And all temptation to transgress repel."

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Ben has questions.

Has he touched her? How? Does he know how she feels? How she tastes? Does he make her sing?

What’s the point? He has taken. With his hands or his mind, it matters not. He has taken from her. He has taken her name and her thoughts and her memories, every part of who she is. He has taken her from herself. And the most selfish of Ben’s obsessions: he has taken her from _him_.

How far can you fall? How much is left to go, foolish brother? We are not brothers. No. We are not even enemies. You are nothing. We have lost who we were, who we are. The Force cries at the tragedy. Don’t you hear it?

Ben rests beside Malaak but still cannot sleep. His friend lies exhausted, the exploration of his mind having taken a toll. Ben removed the shackles and placed him flat and in the shade, his cloak folded as a pillow beneath Malaak’s head.

His poor friend’s head; it is a wiped datapad. Gone are all vestiges of the irascible, good-hearted knight; he has been erased down to his DNA, to the very spaces in between each cell. The only echoes Ben could hear were the voices of the Lords of Moraband—bickering, fretting, scrapping like dogs for the best position—and the one who held sway over them all: Bane. Who ruled Moraband as his last and only kingdom, draining the bodies of fanatics and pilgrims to survive, depriving them of the glory and wisdom they'd risked so much to see. It was from Bane that Ben surmised Alec's powers had come; both upon his first return from Moraband and now. Malaak was an offering; not the most desirable, but something to satiate, a sacrifice to be had since Bane's anger and unhappiness at being denied the best morsel still echoed through him. And so Malaak had been picked clean, like the bones of an ox when the scarebirds are through. It proved a point.

Alec refused them Rey. Spared her from their complete possession but let them erase just enough to allow him to start over without breaking her completely. Ben wonders if he did it for love, or if more pragmatic concerns guided the decision. (After all, could he risk ruining something so powerful? And to him, weren't power and love one and the same?) The Lords bitched about the deprivation for ages. And then, they began to sense him. Ben. The one neither living nor dead. Who bore such a powerful mark of the Force—can you feel it? _He could save us, my Lords. Or he could bring us all to oblivion._

We will discover your fate one day, Ben thinks.

But he is not yet ready to go to Moraband. Soon, but not quite yet.

* * *

She does not know this place. A strange steel drum. A dusty hovel. Threadbare mats make up a bed and there are trinkets, rusted and old, littered about not randomly but with a sense of order. Someone lived here, made it a home, but she can feel how they were lost. Living alone.

"Why are we here?"

The monster shrugs from where he sits beside a stack of pots and pans; was that the kitchen?

"I do not choose where we meet. It is shown to us."

The same as what we wear? she thinks and looks down at her off-white rags and the wrappings about her arms.

"By whom?"

"I have not been here before. Not in the flesh. But Rey—"

"This was her home?" Kira studies the place once more, heart heavy with sadness. "She came from nothing."

"Yes."

"And these marks?" A whole wall of indentations, carefully set and spaced apart, lined up in the many thousands.

"The days she waited," the monster says.

"For what?"

"Her family."

Kira sinks down to her knees. "How sad." She traces the wall, her finger gliding across each dint and ridge.

"Do not be sad. She was patient and strong. And she gave up the waiting. Something guided her beyond this place and she chose her own destiny."

"But did she ever find her family?"

"In a sense."

Kira turns her head to watch his movements. He holds a crude assimilation of a doll between his large hands.

"Did she make that?"

"Yes."

"Then she was just a girl."

"She was young, the same age as you. But this life? It ages you. You see things that you shouldn’t. You have wisdom thrust upon you. But her youth made her naïve as well. It was a beguiling combination. Infuriating too."

"She made you angry?"

"She frustrated me. She challenged me daily. And she opened my eyes."

"What did you see?"

"Come." He stands. "Let us begin our first lesson."

He leads her outside, and she discovers the steel drum hovel is merely the foot of a great overturned contraption. An AT-AT, the monster explains, an old military vehicle. Set in sand, it looks like the fossil of an ancient creature. There is sand everywhere. They are in a desert. It is night and the air is cold and the sky is black and full of glitter. So many stars. She has not seen such a sky. Kira looks up and spins around slowly, arms wrapped around herself and feet sinking into the minute grains.

"This place is beautiful," she says.

"You are strange."

She huffs, arms tightly folded as she looks at him.

"And cold?" he adds.

"I am fine. I have just never been in such a place."

"Then count yourself lucky. Sit."

They face each other, legs crossed and hands braced on their knees. "Breathe. Let the air enter and leave your lungs and let that be all that you feel, all you know."

Kira looks around, distracted. "There is no life here."

"Really?" The monster tilts his head. "Do as I say. Pay attention."

"Are you always this bossy?"

"I have mellowed with age."

"Then I suppose I should be grateful."

There is a noise through the mechanical bellows of his mask that might be a laugh. "Breathe in and out, young padawan Kira."

Padawan? There is no time to think. Only her breathing. All she can feel. And a voice. Not a voice but a sound. A pleasant humming song that swirls like a breeze, like massive wings, like the arms of a lover (if she knew what such arms should feel like) fully around her. There is a voice and it is Life and it is the Light in the dead black sky and it is the space between each grain of sand and the time left between each heartbeat. It is hands holding the whole universe together. And she is a part of it and it is a part of her. Yes! In the way each leaf reaches out towards her. And she can reach back. It could be so simple, like fingers touching. And the Life would seek her out. The Light. The space between all things.

"It is the Force," a voice says. Is it the monster? Or her own? Or someone else.

The Force. Use the Force.

Yes.

She wakes up. She is lying on the sand, and the monster is looking down at her. "You were floating," he says.

"Floating?"

"Yes."

He offers her his hand, still gloved, and she only hesitates a moment before she takes it and he pulls her to her feet.

"Is that normal?" Kira asks.

"You'll find that normal is a relative concept. How do you feel?"

"I feel…" She is breathing, in and out, air moving within her lungs, blood pumping from her heart to every part of her being, and the stars seem brighter now, and the sand seems fluid as a sea. "Alive," she says. "Connected." She looks down. The monster still holds her hand then drops it like he has been found out. "This is the Force?"

"This is the Force," he says. "And you are strong in it."

"But…" I am not strong, she thinks. I am no one. Nothing.

"Don’t be afraid. Say it."

She stares up at him. "I am weak."

"Compared to whom?"

"Everyone!" The words leave in a hurried rush. "They do everything for me. Pick out my clothes. Style my hair. Fetch my meals. Decide my day. I cannot choose. I cannot be trusted with the choice."

"Who decides what you can choose?"

Kira pauses. "My Beloved."

"And you accept this choice?"

"I… I know no other way. I don’t remember…" Useless tears sting her eyes and she wipes them away. "This is the first time I have felt like I… I could do what I want."

"You can do anything."

"Really?"

"You need no one’s permission."

But why does it feel like she does? For her protection. Her safety. _It is for your own good._ Isn’t that what they tell her? He tells her. Oh Alec. She closes her eyes and the tears fall now, spilling down her cheeks.

"Kira…"

She looks at the monster. Hiding behind a mask with half a face and an empty chest with no heart. He raises a hand encased in leather with the flesh-ridden bones that reside underneath. It reaches out but stops and hovers close to her face.

"You have my permission," she tells him. His thumb brushes a tear away.

"You do not have to be afraid. I feel it too," he says. "To know weakness. To wonder if you are less because you always fail to measure up. But everyone fails. That is the lesson. Everyone strives to be something else, whether better or worse, but it is the journey, how we travel every day that defines us. You are not less and you are not weak."

"I am afraid," she tells him. "Not like you think. I am afraid of what I feel here and how I feel in the real world and… what if I’m not the person my Beloved wants? What if I can’t be her? Then what?"

"Then they are not your Beloved."

* * *

He is in her thoughts during the day and she finds her mind outside herself, humming the secret song, testing it out. She sits in the garden and plays with the plants, lets them dance about her hands, feels the Force in the soil and throughout the sky and inside her. Alec watches with Pular always beside him. She knows this without seeing. She can feel them, flickering flames in the night, constant shadows. Everyone has an essence, she is learning. Every living thing. And the dead. And the inert. All of matter. All the eye cannot see.

She works in the garden, turning the soil with a hoe. Feet bare and dirt on her soles, the wooden staff glides in her hands like a partner. She twirls and she swings and it moves like an appendage, a part of her. Was she a dancer? She does not know.

She sits with Alec in her rooms for dinner. There is no audience tonight, no grand banquet. There is only the two of them, the setting sun casting orange fire across the balcony and black light where they are.

"You are different," Alec says.

"What do you mean?"

He smiles. "Perhaps what was lost is returning."

"I wish it would be so." She places her arm upon the table, palm turned towards the ceiling. "How did I get this scar?"

She stares at the pale line often, stretching from elbow to wrist, and she cannot imagine what kind of struggle placed it there. A fight with a knife? Maybe a mark of ownership or some other kind of statement?

Alec's smile fades. "You were injured."

"But how?"

"Kira." His hand covers the line. "I do not wish to burden you with all the ways you were hurt."

"You think I cannot take it?"

"You are barely healed—"

"I am fine!" She pulls back from his touch, a glass spilling wine with the movement. "I am sorry," she says, her arm cradled now on her lap. "It is just… it has been a year. I am not as weak as you think."

She raises her eyes to meet his again. The flesh and the mechanical orbs regard her, metal and skin merging into a perfect mask. He is angry, she thinks and tunes into the Force. No. There is something else. A horror. A fear that he is losing her—

"Forgive me, Love," he says and holds a hand out towards her. She accepts it, accepts his kiss to her knuckles, accepts the weak smile that only reaches his mouth. "I am glad you are feeling stronger."

"What is the mark?"

"Why all of this curiosity?"

"I want to understand myself. I need help." You need a teacher, a dark voice echoes; when she shivers, it is not in fear.

Alec squeezes her hand, pulling her back to the present. "I will always help you. I would give my life to help you. And you must trust me. There are traumas in your past. Things you are not yet ready to face."

"But I am—"

"Kira," his tone grows sharp. She has never heard its sound before. "Say the words."

"I don't—"

"Say them with me."

She swallows down anger. "I am safe. I am loved. I am protected. This is my true self…" She repeats the entire mantra, staring into Alec's eyes as everything else begins to recede. She is beginning to hate this, she thinks. The loss of control. When she finishes, the anger feels far away.

"Sleep now, Kira."

She nods. Yes. I will.

* * *

She lies curled up on her bed, a deep weariness settling over her that requires no counting of stars to let her sleep. Still, when she slips into the dreamworld she is standing on a balcony, a vast scape of tall buildings and bright lights spread out before her. And she is wearing a dress.

Not much of a dress, she thinks. Only scraps of shimmering black fabric that barely cover anything. Oh well. It is just a body. It is just her mind and she is safe and she is exposed in so many other ways. What will he think when he sees her?

"Kira."

She does not turn as he comes to stand beside her.

"Admiring the view?" he says.

"Yes. And you?"

"I am admiring the view as well."

She smiles and looks up at him. "Did you choose this dress?"

"No."

"Can I choose something else?"

"You can choose whatever you like."

"Give me your cloak."

He does. She drapes it around herself and is surprised to find that heat still lingers in the fabric.

"What do I call you?" she says.

"Hm?"

"You are just Monster in my head. In my dreams. But don’t you have a name?"

"I have had many names. Monster is fine."

"How?"

There is no sadness in his expression or his voice. "It has been my name too."

"Okay, Monster. What will you show me how to do today?"

"Whatever you like."

"Can you answer my questions?"

"Yes."

"What is this scar?"

She holds out her arm but he does not take it, only stares at the mark. "A ritual."

"Do you have one too?"

"Why would I have?"

"I don’t know."

"My mark is gone. It was healed."

"How?"

"By Rey."

He is sad now and Kira is sad that she has made him so. "I am sorry. So she could heal you?"

"She could heal anything."

"And you are broken without her."

"Yes."

"Can I heal too?"

"You can try."

"Sit with me."

They take up the same positions as in the desert dream, sat before each other with legs crossed.

"Give me your hand," Kira says.

"Are you always this bossy?"

"Hush."

The Monster does. He offers his hand and stays still as Kira removes his glove. She can feel his eye upon her, sense how the movement of his ribcage changes, even if he does not have fully working lungs.

The hand she reveals is bone and ragged ligament and tendon but not much else. She holds it between both her own, concentrates on her breathing.

"What do I do?" she says.

"Let instinct guide you. Trust yourself."

Yes. Trust. She can do this. Make the parts all whole. Like the plants growing towards her. New life. Constant existence. She feels the air moving in and out of her lungs, feels her eyes close. You can choose to do this. You are choosing. See?

She enters the state she did before, lost to the world around her, to the universe. She is falling.

"Kira?"

She opens her eyes, but she has not moved. "Did I float again?"

The Monster huffs, amused. "Not this time."

"Oh." She looks down at his hand between her own, still the same. "It did not work."

"I might be beyond healing now." A gloved hand moves to join the rest and now he holds her hands together. "Thank you for trying."

"I am sorry."

"Do not apologize."

"It is not fair. I’m supposed to be strong."

"You are. Dear Kira."

"Stop." He lets go. "I do not deserve your praise. Here." She stands and offers him back his cloak.

"You give up now?"

"I…"

He stands too and reminds her of the difference in their sizes. "Have you learned nothing I have taught you?"

"I…" She is angry now, at herself, at him. Could she strike him down? Bloody Monster, who always pushes her to be more than who she is.

"Patience. Failure. These are all tools of learning," he says.

Kira rolls her eyes. "Then I have learned a lot."

"Yes, you have. You wish to fight me?"

A delicious wave of violence licks through her; the power of it is startling. "Yes," she breathes. Even her voice sounds like a stranger's.

"You can fight me."

"How?"

He conjures a staff in each hand and passes one to her. "With this."

Like the hoe. She takes it and remembers the dance she knows. Their staffs clash together. She twirls and she is laughing now. Yes. She can do this. She can—

"Ow!"

He has hit her side. "I am sorry. Do you yield?"

Do I yield? "Never!"

* * *

Ben wakes from the dream aroused. This is new.

He excuses himself, leaving the sleeping Malaak and fleeing into the desert. It is night here now. Black wraith who is dead and feels alive. That was the best dream yet. That was his Rey. And though she couldn’t heal, he could feel her touch. That was enough. It is enough just to feel this.

Precious Rey.

Can I touch myself? he thinks. Is this dirty? Am I wrong?

He removes his glove, the same one she did in the dream (she same one she did as they sat inside the _Falcon_ and she wore that dress and all his fantasies arrived, the ones he had never let himself have). He removes his glove and he looks at his hand.

Everything else is forgotten.

Where there had been only bone is now flesh, smooth, pale skin; firm with Life, with energy. He can feel the fluid in his cells, the blood through muscle held in perfect tension, the suppleness of its organic covering bending and flexing at will.

The voices of the Sith Lords echo, but now it is Ben who corrects them.

_The one who is more living than dead._

My darling, he thinks. Strange, beautiful creature. Look at what you did.


	54. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Tread lightly, dear friends. Reclaiming is a painful process. If you are triggered by elements of stalking, emotionally abusive behavior or suicidal ideations, you may want to skip. Rey is getting herself back, but make no mistake, this is a war. 
> 
> Warnings in this chapter: Stalking, emotionally abusive behavior, suicidal ideations.

"O much deceav'd, much failing, hapless Eve,  
Of thy presum'd return! event perverse!  
Thou never from that houre in Paradise  
Foundst either sweet repast, or sound repose"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Kira wakes cocooned in blankets, heart beating wildly, breath coming fast.

Her reflexes are still in battle—sparring with her Monster, parrying and ducking and deflecting each blow. It was exhilarating, better than the finest wine. She wants to do it again. She wants to feel the energy course through her veins, as if nurturing the germ of an idea. She loves this, she thinks. The violence of it, the beautiful dance.  
  
As for the rest of her body, it feels… strange.  
  
It hungers for something, each part telling a different story. Her breasts ache, as if demanding to be touched; half asleep, Kira obeys. She cups their firm flesh in her hands, weighing their softness. She thinks about the way her Monster moved, the breadth of his shoulders, the coiled strength of his limbs, and becomes acutely aware of the space between her legs. It calls to her and, though she has never done this before, her body knows what it wants her to do.  
  
Reluctantly her hands leave her breasts, feeling their way down her torso, the slight swell of her stomach, the meat of her hips—marks of a princess who has been allowed to do nothing for herself. Down, down under the blanket, she inches up the hem of her nightgown until she finds curls and the cleft beneath them and—she opens her eyes. She is wet. Moisture coats the soft flesh between her thighs, making her fingers slide in the most delicious way. She finds a rhythm. Back arched, fingers moving, she pictures black leather gloves, a chrome mask—  
  
Somewhere through the fog of lust, she registers a sound. The intake of breath, followed by the sharp creak of a chair. Alarmed, Kira flies upright, pulling the covers to her chin, never mind she was fully concealed anyway.  
  
Her Beloved sits across the room.  
  
"What are you doing here?!"  
  
She can see him work to conceal the hungry look that only seconds ago had been laid bare.  
  
"You did not sleep well," he says calmly. "I was worried."

Sleep, she thinks. I meant to sleep. But when did she get from dinner table to bed? When did she change?

"You did not ask if you could stay." You did not ask me anything.  
  
"Since when have I needed to—" he stops himself. "I have upset you. Forgive me." He pauses a moment, then reverts to the charming smile she is so used to. "Why don't you get dressed? We could have breakfast by the lake."  
  
"I would like for you to leave." The words have a rage to them that even Kira does not fully understand.  
  
Alec stares at her for what feels like an eternity, his face fighting to stay impassive. At last, he stands. "Of course." Another smile. "Do come down when you're ready. We have guests today."

* * *

Kira spends all morning in her garden, ignoring Alec, ignoring everyone, sulking.  
  
He should not have been spying on her. Who does that? It is wrong. ( _Everything_ is wrong.) But he was concerned, he'd said, and Gods know she's given him enough to be concerned about before. But her _privacy_ —another part of her mind argues—he should have asked. Of course he should have and she will tell him so when she sees him again. He should always ask. She nods to herself and arranges the roots of a thistle plant where it will have access to more air and water. She has taken to drinking the tea made from the steeping of its needles; she finds that it soothes her.  
  
But that's not all you're worried about, a voice from deep inside her says. There is no shame in what you were doing, nor shame in him for watching you—is this not what husbands and wives do? You're angry because you got caught. Because you were not thinking about your husband.  
  
Kira makes a face at the rich black earth, but she cannot argue. She should feel guilty for thinking of another in such a moment, she knows this, but somehow... she doesn't care. The more she thinks of her Monster the more she cannot stop, has no desire to. The feelings he stirs in her seem to defy obedience.

She is still distracted at lunch, even as the knights are gathered to welcome Supreme Leader Hux. Kira continues to ignore them, ignores Hux's agitation and the tense set of Alec's shoulders; she is too busy wrestling with her own unease. She registers dimly something Hux says about having found the last pocket of rebels, tucked away in Chiss Space, and how they must strike now or lose the traitors forever. He speaks of a woman with such vehemence that Kira is momentarily distracted from her thoughts, watching as Hux chokes on the name.

"No need to air out the details," Alec says lightly, but his smile is a razor and she can perceive a palpable violence flowing from him to Hux.

So Alec is a creature of the Force too, she thinks, and feels afraid.

Discussion over, Alec and the knights stand in unspoken agreement. Hux rises as well, a hand rubbing his throat.

"To the chamber," Alec says, and takes her arm in a light but immovable grip. "We need your help," he tells her softly.

"I do not feel well," Kira whispers. She is in no mood for this today, and lacks all inclination to be accommodating.

"Just a few minutes, Love. You can help us win this war."

"I don't want to," she says, pleading, hating herself for the weakness of it.

Alec does not stop, merely leads her into the awful white chamber and eases her down into the chair at its center. His eyes are terrible and so, so gentle. "We need you, Kira; I need you. Do not deny me this."

"Please—"

"Close your eyes," he commands, the weight of the Force behind his words. She can sense it now, knows it to be true, but it is not the pure essence of her Monster. No, this is a twisted strain, corrupted and intent only upon her subjugation. It strokes her mind in an unwanted caress.

A tear slips down her cheek. She cannot move. Alec's voice guides her until she sees vast frozen mountains, an entire world of winter. She sees a destroyer hovering in the upper atmosphere. The canons underneath it are heating, and dozens of fighters have launched from its belly.

No, she thinks. This isn't right.

"Help me find them," Alec says, bending her will to his own. _Help me and this will be over_ , he says, speaking from his mind to hers and Kira's eyes fly open; he has never done this before. Alec squeezes her fingers. "Concentrate."

She does and feels movement in a cave far below. The framework of a bunker designed to withstand years of heavy fight. People are trying to leave.

"Make them stay," Alec croons, his voice close to her ear. "Tell them there is no reason to flee, they are safe."

But they are not safe. Kira can feel the cannons of the destroyer warmed almost to readiness, sense the fighters bearing down.

"No," she breathes.

"Tell them." Strong hands grip hers. "They. Are. Safe."

She sees a beautiful blue-skinned woman leading the fray down cold, narrow corridors, claustrophobic in their dimensions and from the tension in the air. She guides an older and much shorter woman, grief draped as a shawl about her hunched shoulders, bearing down until it spills like madness. Kira sees the man from her last vision, a baby in his arms, its red eyes round with fright. Though silent, the child is crying; how she can hear it through the Force. And another man with dark skin; his face is so kind. I know you she thinks. I _know_ you.

"Tell them to stay," Alec says. "Comfort them."

If they stay they will die, she thinks. She will not be party to their end.

No, she says inside her mind.

"Kira—"

"NO!"

Her scream bursts forth like an explosion. Alec’s hold is gone. Windows shatter. She can hear the crystal rain of glass, see black splinters spread along the pristine white walls.

 _Run!_ She tells it to the man who looks so familiar. _I would not have you harmed. Go! Take them and escape. You will die if you stay here_.

"Stop this, Kira!" Alec stands on the edge of a chasm in the floor. There is blood on his face and murder in his expression. "Bring them back. Do as I say or—"

" _What?_ " She wants to laugh. You cannot make me. I will not harm innocents. There was a baby! Her hand goes to her soft belly. "Monsters," she says. "You are monsters."

"Magess! Control her—!"

The Supreme Leader crumples, clutching at his throat. Her Beloved clenches the fingers of one hand, the other reaching out towards her. "Kira, look at me. Say the words. I am safe—"

His voice takes effect. She speaks the litany with him: "I am loved. I am protected. This is my true self—"

_But what if I’m not the person my Beloved wants? What if I can’t be her? Then what?_

_Then they are not your Beloved._

"—this is who I am—"

I am not her. It is not me. Who am I?

"STOP!"

Kira looks around; it is as if time has ceased with her command. Alec does not move, cannot speak, his mouth caught half-open between words, his hands contorted like a freakish statue. The Supreme Leader is a grotesque sculpture too and the knights and all his entourage stand as a muted chorus, waiting.

The air is static. Each fragment of glass hovers, floats like a weightless jewel before her eyes. She could reach out and touch a piece. She does. It cuts her skin and she welcomes it, sees the tear of blood well upon her finger, brings it to her lips.

Kira steps forward over the newly formed abyss. She walks across open space like an invisible floor exists beneath her, vaguely registers the Supreme Leader’s eyes bulge, Alec practically vibrate with venom, each man falling breathless as she passes them by and out the broken door.

* * *

She is on the other side.

She uses the Force to meld the splintered door into a single, impenetrable wall. With that last miracle, the spell breaks, and the enormity of what she has done crashes down like the broken glass from before.

Oh Gods, she thinks. Oh gods oh gods oh gods—

She is running. The palace is a maze and she can find no exit. Down wide hallways and narrow corridors, servants moving aside as she passes. She knows only the places she is allowed to go, spent most of her time in a minuscule number of rooms. Fool, she thinks. You have made yourself a prisoner. Curiosity came too late and she is doomed now for her ignorance.

She runs, and she does not know where she is going, only pounds her feet in indoctrinated ways. At double doors she realizes she has come back to her own chambers. There is no way out here but maybe—

She goes inside and gathers furniture to block the entrance. The Force is her appendage, a many-limbed beast hard at work. Soon chairs and sofas and tables merge; a large desk is upended and placed at the top. How can I do this, she thinks and then: why didn’t I do this before?

Behind her, the bedroom doors open and Ursa emerges.

"My Lady? What is wrong?"

"Ursa!" Kira runs and hugs her handmaiden as a child seeking reassurance. "Help me, please! I must get out of here."

"But why, my Lady? There is nothing—"

 _Do not trust her_.

The Force sounds inside her head, gives voice to her own instincts left dormant for too long.

_She is not loyal to you, only serves your Beloved._

"Precious Ursa." Kira strokes her cheek. "You do not care for me."

"My Lady, I…" The older woman starts to panic, eyes darting to the furniture piled against the doors. "I do care! I have done my duty as instructed. It is for your own good."

No, Kira thinks. But I do not want to hurt you. Can’t you rest though and be quiet? You could sleep. Just go to sleep.

Ursa slumps and Kira catches her, laying her carefully on the ground. Sitting by her side, she places a hand on Ursa’s forehead. Tell me your secrets, she thinks, and the Force-beast reaches tentacles out that delve into the unconscious woman’s mind.

Kira sees her memories of the day. Arriving at the break of dawn to a private entrance of the palace, a hidden door with secret stairs that only servants use to keep them out of the way of their master, a staircase leading all the way to her room—

Well, Kira thinks, there’s an idea. She drags Ursa’s limp body back into the bedroom and sets to work.

* * *

She follows the trail of her handmaiden’s memories, now wearing her drab gray dress and head-covering. In her mind she thinks herself invisible, believes no one can see her, and it seems that no one does.

Somewhere in the palace, her Beloved and his knights all search for her. She senses their movements. She imagines them finding Ursa sleeping in her bed dressed in her gown. She wishes they see only foolish Kira, silly Kira losing her temper and crying herself into a dreamless slumber; it’s just the sort of thing she would do.

With the Force she finds that if you think a thing enough then maybe it will happen. She hones on this gift, this intuition as it salvages her; she is almost free.

She follows a winding flight of stairs that lasts several stories and ends in a wooden door. There is no lock, just a latch, and she opens it and steps outside.

The streets of Theed suddenly greet her. She is swept into a sea of people, most dressed poorly just like her, the lowly workers of the town living their lives at the feet of a fortress. But what is it guarding? Just a girl. A girl who knows very little, not even who she is.

She stares up at the elegant colonnades of so many buildings she has never been to. Sees the lush green of forests at the edge of the city she has never walked through. A pure blue lake at its core she has never had the chance to swim in.

She could go anywhere, do anything. But not back. Never there. Do not let them see you, Kira. Let no one find you and harm you and make you do things you never wish to do.

She runs past ornate halls and grand houses, finding speed and strength she never believed possible. She weaves through lesser streets, ending in the heat of a market, loud voices shouting their wares, bright colored fabrics and pottery and jewels, a thousand scents of a thousand different foods. She is overwhelmed, her senses flooded but not drowning. She is alive in this place. She is a person like everyone else. She feels tempted by the beckoning voices and outstretched hands.

Pretty girl, come see—

A hand grips her arm. Another closes around her mouth and she is dragged back into darkness, swallowed by shadow. She struggles and she screams but her efforts are useless. Even the Force is far away from her and she is suddenly tired, sinking deeper and deeper into nothingness from which she might never leave.

And then it stops. She is thrown to the ground. Buildings press on either side of a narrow alleyway like the walls of a prison cell. She is trapped. And looking up, she finds her guard.

"Hello, Kira."

The knight called Pular smiles.

"I will not go back!" she cries. "Just let me go. I cannot—"

"Oh, do be quiet." He makes a vague gesture with his hand and all energy leaves her again. "I have no intention to return you. It is the last thing I desire."

"Then you mean… to kill me?" Her voice sounds pitifully weak; she wants to hurt herself for its failing.

"Sadly, I am denied that pleasure." He kneels by her side. "Though it is tempting."

"Why? Why do you hate me? What have I done to you?"

Pular laughs with the sound of a screeching bird of prey. "Oh Kira. And I thought you an idiot before." He grips her hair until it pulls her scalp in searing pain. "The cause of all our misery while you maintain your doe-eyed ignorance. Allow me to illumine." His lips ghost by her ear, the breath of his words hot like smoke against her skin. "You are a curse. A wretched mistake. Your existence brings only decay and destruction. He should not have let you live. He should have left you. But this is your curse upon Alec, the poison you control him with. You have blinded him to what everyone else can see: You were made to be left behind."

She hears him laugh once more and the laughter echoes inside her brain, slices through her skull sharper than any knife. There is a shattering, and jagged shards of memories break free—terrible pieces, of violent sand and heat and a small girl screaming, crying at a ship in the sky to come back come back _come back!_

"Go," Pular says. He is standing now, brushing off his hands as if she has dirtied him. "Leave and never return."

Kira does. She does not remember how, only that she is on her hands and knees then on her feet then running, through streets she does not know, past people who do not care who she is, to the edge of the city and beyond, into forest that grows darker with fading light and louder with fearsome sounds, animals that scream and call for blood. Rain falls down. It is cold. The Force does not answer her call. There is only this black place where she is flesh for the wolves and bone for the vultures and a memory that is meant to be forgotten.

The rain falls down and the storm gathers strength, thunder that sounds its anger and lightning that flashes in rage. She walks for what might be hours. Her pace slows and she stumbles over fractured twigs and rotting leaves, slips in ankle-deep mud. Her clothes are soaked and soiled. Coldness seeps past her skin to somewhere deep where she is nothing. She should die here. Let the galaxy be saved; it is better off without her curse.

Give up and make things right; here upon this rock, she thinks, her body collapsing, eyes weeping endlessly. Oblivion settles like a blanket and she sinks beneath it, welcoming the embrace of a bottomless hole without dreams or heart or hope.

* * *

When she wakes, there is fire.

The storm howls outside, but it does not touch her. She is in a hut with stacked stone walls, dome-shaped and warm; she is wrapped in a blanket. The fire burns in a circle of stones before her and on the other side—

On the other side sits a shadow.

"You shouldn't have bothered," her voice is barely a croak.

"You were unconscious in the middle of a storm. You would have died out there."

"My point exactly."

The Monster leans forward, tilts his head in a gesture of sympathy that has Kira squeezing her eyes shut. "What happened?"

She tells him. Of the white room and being asked to hurt the beautiful young woman and the troubled old woman and the baby with frightened eyes. Of the man who looked so familiar, who she thinks could hear her warning. She tells him of Alec's anger and the way she tore the room apart. Of the Force and how, for a short time at least, she had made it servant to her.

The Monster stays silent, so Kira continues. Of how she ran, longing to flee from her very skin. Of Pular and how he dragged her away, laughing as he told her—

She cannot face him for this part, turning away as she repeats the words:

_You were made to be left behind._

She cannot stop saying it. It is a blade in her heart, a cut that won't stop bleeding. She tells the Monster of hearing the cries for her parents, for she is sure that is who they are now, she remembers that much, and she thinks Pular must be right—he must be—she can't possibly bring anything good into this world. The tears flow as they did before, but quietly now; she is resigned. The fight has drained out of her; she wants only to fade away.

"I will kill him." The Monster's voice is as dark as it has ever been.

"Who?"

"Anyone who dares harm you."

"He spoke the truth," Kira says. "I am nothing."

"Do not say that. Don’t ever say that. You are everything—"

"To someone," she finishes, mocking their first conversation.

"To me."

Kira can't breathe.

"Look," the Monster says, and when she turns back to face him, he has moved to her side. She sits up, so aware of his nearness she can barely think. He is tugging off his gloves. "If you were nothing," he says, "if you were a curse, then how could you do this?" He holds out his hands—one skeletal and decaying and the other, the other is…

"I…" She feels lightheaded. "I did that?"

"You did that," the Monster says. "You have brought me back to life."

Kira takes his newly healed hand in hers. It is warm and strong and real. She holds it like a gift. When she speaks, it is with someone else's voice. "You are in my thoughts," she confesses. "Always. I can think of nothing else. I…" she cannot finish.

"Say it," he says.

"Take off your mask." She sits up straighter. "I need to see you."

He pulls away his hands, and she watches as the ruined and the whole work in tandem, releasing the catches underneath his helmet with a hissing sound. The mask lifts away and there he is—the same disfigured face of their first meeting, a grotesque form but Kira sees none of that.

She strokes what's left of his cheek. "The only time I am at peace," she tells him, "is when I am with you. The only time I feel whole." The Monster moves to answer, but she covers his scarred lips. "And I know I am not her. Rey. I cannot replace what you lost, but I… the way I feel… please," she says. "Please don't send me away."

"Kira…"

"Save me," she whispers, and touches her lips to his.


	55. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So it has finally happened. Warnings for sexy times. <3

"If death  
Consort with thee, death is to me as life"

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Kira is kissing him. Ben cannot move. Her touch, her words, her smell, her presence; all have rendered him immobile.

Her lips are sloppy. There is saliva. Wetness. She does not know how, does not remember. But he does. A storm just like this and finding shelter from the rain. Finding each other. Learning the ways to make her feel good without having to say a word.

Can I? he thinks. Just like before.

She sighs into his mouth, moans as her hands palm his face, fingers running through what is left of his hair, across his scalp. He could purr, he thinks, as her nails scratch, tracing down until they lace behind his neck. He draws her close and takes her in his arms, lifting her from the bed. Her hands cling tightly as her mouth parts over his, pressing again and again.

There was a day in a storm. A night in the _Falcon_. A dawn beneath a waterfall, the dawn of all things, when she saw this future.

I am sorry, he thinks. I am so sorry.

"Do you love me?"

She is kissing a broken creature, a dead man. She is gifting sweet tenderness to rotting fresh, tasting that death and sighing hungrily. How can she desire him like this? Leaking with compassion so generously, beyond the hollow words of the Jedi. You are what the Force meant when they made Light. So pure and kind. And yet you ask if I love you?

She smiles, a finger tracing his cheek from the good eye to the strands of exposed muscle. "Why do you cry?"

"Because I love you," he says.

He kisses her back, shows her all he has learned, opens his ruined mouth and lets his tongue find hers, tasting honey.

"I love you," he says again. I have always loved you, my Rey. My Kira. I always will. Beyond death. Beyond this weak body, without a heart. I do not need one when I have you. Our blood is one. The blood is one.

He returns her to the straw pallet and stares down at her flushed face, mouth swollen and panting.

"Can I touch you?" he says, and she takes his flesh hand to kiss its palm, takes his dead hand to kiss the exposed sinew of that. Takes them both and guides them to her chest. Bottom lip between her teeth, she nods at him.

Yes.

Ben thinks that he blacks out.

But with his eyes slipped closed, he can feel her breasts. They are fuller. Like the added roundness to her face. She is well fed, taken care of in all the physical ways like a pampered pet (he cannot dwell on the knowledge of the mental cruelty she has faced for it will make him destroy the universe). Her body arches into him and he leans down, nose to her neck, and inhales. Perfumes of soap and sodden forest and the smell he has missed, will always know.

There is a sound, a desperate growl, then his lips draw lines along her throat. "Can I—?"

She is undoing the ties at the top of her dress, opening it up to reveal her. "Please." She moves his hands back upon her.

"You are so beautiful," he says. "So good."

"So are you, my Monster."

He is blacking out again.

"How do you love me? Show me," she says.

Yes.

He does, with his mouth on her skin, from her neck to her chest, the sweet soft flesh. You are a jewel, a long-lost treasure. How I have gone without. A nipple peaks against his tongue. This gift. My only sustenance. There is no water in a desert. Your memory quenched my thirst. I did not drink or eat but the thought of you… the thought of you and now you are here, I will not hunger.

"Show me," she says over and over, writhing beneath him, wriggling out of her dress. She pushes it down her hips, lets him drag it past the length of her legs. She is curves and pale skin. There is meat to her stomach that was not there before, a ripeness that has spread to her thighs. She looks up at him, waiting. "Do I not please you?"

"You are the most pleasing thing I have ever seen." His one good hand travels from between her breasts across her belly to the damp white cotton that clings to dark hair between her thighs. She gasps as he reaches there.

"I imagined this," she says. "Touched myself where you touch me now as I thought of you."

He groans as his meagre blood drains to his groin.

"Don’t stop." Her smaller hands wrap around his wrist. "It feels so good."

"Tell me how."

"Like I’ll come part. Like I’ll explode. There’s too much tension."

"Yes."

He kisses her soft stomach as he strokes her underwear, building with heat and moisture. Her thighs trap his hand as his mouth travels down.

"Yes!"

"Good girl. Precious girl." He chants as in prayer.

The words make her cry out as he breathes in her arousal. "Can I taste you?"

"Please," she begs. He draws down her underwear, draws his hands along her legs and their unnatural smoothness.

"Look at you." Her body lies naked before him, mouth parted, nipples pert, her breasts rising and falling. The slight swell of her stomach, the slit of her navel, the glistening slick at her pubic hair, thighs rubbing together. "Do you see?" He finds her folds and the nub, circles with his thumb as he whispers, "You are not made to be left but to be loved, to be worshipped."

She sobs the name of her Monster then. Her voice grows louder as he leans down and replaces his hand with his mouth to drink up her nectar. The taste; it has not changed, only intensified. He feasts from her like a dying man who has found an oasis. He has survived the arid nights, the drought-filled months. He has survived and he is replenished. Saved by her love. He makes her come apart, feels her clench upon his tongue, prolongs the moment with his fingers. They fill her walls, draw her pleasure violently out.

Let go, he thinks, let go.

She does.

Her voice echoes with the Force to put out the flames of the fire. All is darkness and he gathers her up, kissing her brow and her cheeks and her mouth as she trembles against him.

"I’ve got you," he says and she kisses him back, sensing her taste, feeding off him, cleansing him with the rain of her tears.

"My love, my love, my love," she says.

Ben feels a pain in his chest, a sudden ache as the empty hole spasms. There is warmth and there is blood. He sees the red wetness gather, pouring out of him onto her pale skin. She is staring wide-eyed.

"What have I done?" she says.

He is bleeding. Dark marking Light. Something contracts where once there was nothing. He falls to the floor and into a special kind of agony he has never known before.

* * *

Her love is dying.

She lies boneless with pleasure, thrumming and sticky at her core. His touch had ignited her. His words had healed her broken heart. And in the giving, the selfless act of his love, she destroyed him. Just like Pular said.

His blood is painted all over her. His body thrashes on the floor. He makes inhuman sounds. Animal grunts and moans like he is being tortured. Tearing and crunching. He is breaking. He saved her like she begged him to and her curse is to punish him like this. For you poison all you touch, wretched child.

She closes her eyes and covers her ears.

No!

Coward! Go to him. Save him. Help him. Do something you weak, pathetic waste of a girl.

She screams.

The stacked stone walls of the hut blow apart. Wind and rain batter her once more, but now she is naked and more afraid than ever. She crawls along the floor, reaching out for him, for anything to hold her down, hold her tight, just hold her.

She feels frayed edges of fabric. The solid mass of a body underneath. In the shadowed light of the storm, flashes through thick gray clouds and the lifeless night blue of sky, he lies face down. She rolls his huge bulk over, hands searching for a face she can barely see. Fingers thread through thick hair, soft as silk. The unmarred smoothness of skin, brow and cheeks and prominent nose. Plush lips. What is she feeling? Who is this? Does he breathe?

Head pressed to his chest, there is a beat beneath her ear. Thud, thud. Dear heart. He lives! Warm and vital, her whole body rises and falls with each respiration. She reaches for the rags that still clothe him and rips them apart. Her palms meet more flesh, planes of muscle, so much skin.

Wake up, she thinks. Wake up!

"What are you doing?"

She flies back, buttocks scraping over stone as she sees the figure lift its head.

"What are you?" she says. "I cannot see you."

The head moves to look around. "How did the hut explode?"

Before she can answer, she sees the outline of a hand. It raises to the sky and stones start to pick up from every side, gather forth and take shape, stacking back into walls. The hut rebuilds around them until they are plunged in darkest shadow.

Then there is fire.

Flames burst from the central circle of stones. She and the figure lie on either side of it, slowly getting to their feet until they can finally see each other.

What she sees is a man. Who, she thinks. Who?

He is the most striking creature she has ever seen.

His height has not changed but seems greater for the flesh that now fills him. Shiny black hair surrounds his face and ends at his shoulders. His face is pale and long with an angular nose and full pink lips that press together as he regards her with such eyes. Oh his eyes! Brown or are they green or gold? She does not know even though they hold her attention. I am lost, she thinks. I could look at you forever.

So she does.

His pale throat, which bobs as he swallows. The line of his collarbones and the expanse of his chest. She pulled apart his shirt and now all she can see is skin, untarnished porcelain defined by thick muscle.

"Who are you?" she says.

"I am your Monster."

"But you are perfect."

He smiles, bares slightly crooked teeth, which change his whole face. "You must be ill from cold."

"I am right as rain! As are you! What has happened? I thought you dead, that I killed you, I—"

She is weeping uncontrollably as the man moves closer, a blurred image shifting through the veil of her tears until he stands before her.

"Kira." Whole hands hold her face. Both now warm and strong as the one she had healed. "You did this. How much must it take for you to see?"

"I don’t understand."

He kisses her forehead. The feel of his lips and she is weak. "You are so powerful, so good. You are my saviour. My warrior heart." He is kissing all over her face. "Look at me."

"I can’t." She is crying too hard. "It is not real. You can’t be real."

"Yes I am." He picks her up with strong solid arms, strong solid back and broad shoulders that she clings to. "Let me show you."

"Yes."

"Let me love you."

"Please, oh please, yes."

He lies her on the bed, now damp with rain, but she does not care. There is congealed blood on her skin but he does not care as he holds her, touches and kisses everywhere. The feel is beyond anything. She is undone. She is ruined. She cannot recover from this. What has she done to deserve such a miracle? What has she done? Who is she?

He makes her fall apart just as before, just with his hands and his eyes. Yes, his eyes. There is only love. Only safety. Only want. There is a universe of secrets that must be hers. How she wants as much as him, maybe more. So alone in her world, a sad princess in a castle, she is greedy. What is enough? Can it be when she watches him undress, peeling the last of his rags away to reveal all of him? His body is a monument, she thinks. A holy temple. If there are gods, do they look like him? Oh. And that part, the one that stands tall, thick and long. Is that for her? Can she taste it? Touch?

"Please," she begs.

"What is it?"

"Let me touch you."

She moves so he can lie down. He is too long for the bed; it is not made for two people. But it is enough to be like this, her soft body over his hard one, her delicate hands exploring his powerful form, her mouth taking all that she can. She kisses his lips and he makes the sweetest sounds. She can bring him to ruin if she pleases. She controls a god. Every ridge of muscle, every dip. The dark circles of his nipples. The run of hair down his taut stomach. He is so big, right down to this. Her hand grips the base and he jerks.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

She runs her hand up and down the length and feels his body tremble, hears him sigh and purr and this is power, this is perfect, this. She leans down, laves her tongue over the head, takes it inside her mouth and hollows her cheeks. His hand grips her hair as she sucks. She draws him out with a pop. Clear fluid beads at the tip and she licks it clean.

"You are going to kill me," he says.

"I am sorry—"

"In a good way. Though I may not last long."

"What do you mean?"

"Will you take me inside you?"

Kira looks at his length. "Oh." Her eyes widen. "Yes, please."

His hands span her hips as he guides her, her palms flat to his chest. She can feel his heart drum beneath her fingers, feel his heat and his hardness reach inside, slowly stretch her. It is vaguely painful, an alien stinging, then not. She is full. She is whole. Complete.

"We fit together."

"Yes." He smiles, touches her cheek. "Does it hurt?"

"No, not anymore." She turns her head to kiss his fingers, body shifting slightly. He growls. "What did I do?"

"Feels good," he forces out. "Like this." He holds her hips and lifts her, moves her slowly up and down.

"Oh! Like this?"

She moves with him and he nods with difficulty. They are moving together, in sync, in rhythmic friction that will burn them both. How she hopes. She shifts her hips until it rubs against that spot at her center. She reaches down and touches it.

"Good girl, darling girl. Let me help you."

"Yes."

He is touching her there, his thumb moving in circles as she holds onto his wrist, rising up and down, flying higher, racing to the edge of a precipice. It is like their first meeting, she thinks, when he chased her, but he would not let her fall. He tried to save her. Now let them go down together. Let them plummet to this place of pleasure.

"So close so close—" she says again and again then she does not speak at all, can only open her mouth to let the air move in and out, can only scream without noise. His fingers dig into her hips enough to bruise and he bucks up into her with a desperate moan. Hot liquid spills inside her as she spasms, a fluttering that spreads from her core to her fingers and her toes and her hair. She is liquid as him, dissolving onto his chest. She is nothing. She is his.

He holds her tightly. They are damp with sweat, the rain having turned to steam in their heat. It must have. She is so warm. Burning from the inside. Everything is on fire.

Where are you?

Who said that, she thinks. Was it me? Was it my Monster?

But he is just staring at her, eyes wet and so alive and she has never felt like this. This is the lava that melts her bones. It must be. Only him. Only—

"What do I call you now?" she says.

"You want another name?"

I want everything, she thinks and answers him, "Tell me what your Rey called you by."

"Ben," he says simply.

"Ben." She could cry but there is no water left. "Ben. My Ben."

He crushes her to him. "You must always call me that."

"Forever."

"I will find you."

"Where?"

Where are you?

"Tell me the place and I will come to you. It is not safe. You must wake. But know that you will not be left. I will save you as you asked, just as you saved me."

Such magic words. Her head is spinning as she mumbles, "A city called Theed on the planet Naboo." Thunder crashes loud enough that the hut seems to shake. "The last place I remember was a forest. I do not know where."

"I know it well."

She holds onto him with trembling arms. It is so hot. Why is she hot? Her entire body is shaking.

"Kira?" Ben is sitting up; he cradles her in his lap. "What is wrong?"

"I don’t feel right." The words are drawled; the world is fuzzy. She cannot see him like she should, only feel as his hand presses to her forehead.

"You have a fever. You must be sick."

"No—"

"You must wake up now, but when you do, know that I am coming for you."

Don’t leave me, she thinks, don’t leave me. "No—"

"You are strong. You can fight this." His fingers brush her forehead again and she can feel the rain lashing her skin, smell the sodden trees all around. He holds her close but she is returning to the forest. "I will see you very soon."

* * *

She fades from his arms and the hut fades around him and he is returned to the desert where he sits with hands on his knees and legs stiffly crossed.

He blinks into the sun. It was night when he started, felt her distress through the Force, a primal scream, an animal yell.

Now he knows who the monster is. And he knows where he must go.

He struggles to his feet and climbs the dunes back to the hollow shipwreck he calls home. Malaak shelters during these hours for it is too hot to endure for the living. The sand feels coarse against Ben’s skin and the sun beats down punishingly. He has been gone for too long, he thinks, for the heat usually never bothers him. Time to leave. Time to go to Naboo.

How could they take you to the home of my grandmother? I was meant to show you. It would be our place. But they have tainted it, sullied everything that I love. I will end them. I will kill them all!

The winds howl with his rage. The sand hurts his eyes. Just his eye. No. He blinks. Could it be? There is no time. We must hurry.

Malaak sits in the shade but is on his feet when he sees him. "Who trespasses here?" His club saber is lit and he snarls, lips pulled back as he readies for a fight. "Who are you?"

"Malaak, there is no time for games."

"How?" His arm drops and his saber slips from his fingers. "What are you—?" Then his eyes roll back and he falls to the ground.

"Malaak!" Ben runs to his side, hands gripping him by the shoulders. My hands, Ben thinks. He touches his face. My skin. Puts palm to his chest. My heart. My warrior heart. Clever girl.

He quickly gathers his few belongings into a makeshift bag and ties it to his back. He is no longer immune to the desert. He covers his face and arms then does the same to Malaak, lugging the fainted knight onto his shoulders.

"Come on, old friend," he says and walks out into the sun. "Do you feel that?" The heat is cloying, but Ben lifts his face, squinting up at the sky. "Rey of Light. She waits for us."


	56. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don’t like to bring politics into what I post here but, as a woman, this week has been particularly shit. With that in mind, I have to warn you Alec plumbs new depths of gross male entitlement and misogyny this chapter. It is dark, darker than I intended but unconsciously done, despite current events. If you have had your fill of the worst of men, then I understand and would advise that you skip this chapter. All I can say is that, at least in this piece of fiction, justice will be served and the guilty parties will get their comeuppance.
> 
> Stay safe and take care of yourselves however you need. Just know that I love and appreciate you all. <3
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: kidnapping, abusive and misogynistic thoughts and language, and one brief near-instance of physical abuse directed at Rey.

“Be then his love accursed, since, love or hate,  
To me alike it deals eternal woe.”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Brother, you’ve taken the joke too far. I wipe blood from my lips. Again. Show me again.

We fight. We rage. We are glorious together. We fight like we know how to fuck. I do. I could show you. Fighting is the same as fucking, my friend. Lust and hunger. A battle for power. The proof of who is the more dominant.

We fight so long and hard. Do you remember what I told you? About my mother’s hair. How it looked like gold. How I could hear her and see her despite all the dozens of systems that lay between us. A million stars. She had the same smile that I did. I don’t smile like that anymore.

When the temple burned down, I saw the power in you. I wanted it. I wanted to be you. To be near you was not enough. I let it seem that way. Until mother burned too. Until I felt her pain. All my siblings burning. The galaxy must be remade. Make it different now my family is gone and I am alone, just like you.

Betrayal is like death, you said. It is a knife in your heart. It is the severing of limbs. The loss of blood. Its replacement by slow poison.

I follow you like a shadow, like a lover, like a brother would. Yet I am something other. You claim you are master as the demonic puppet pulls your strings, moves you against us. But I will not go. I am tied to you. All our strings are bound together as your knights and we believe in you.

Like you told us in that dank cave, our bodies huddled together by the withering glow of oil lamps. Such beautiful stories. The passion of the Sith. What it meant to succumb to the Dark and be made anew. To feel alive. To embrace this life. To embrace all we have.

I will follow you. You are my family. My master. My father. Brother, friend and foe.

Fight me, brother. Do not laugh. Do not joke. Do not hold back and embrace me fully.

The blood on my lips is your blood as well.

* * *

Alec walks through the forest. It is night and the moonlight does not penetrate this far. Still his gift will allow him to see. A generous token from the dead Sith Lords who have toyed with and taken over his body once already. The blue is not gone but the gold is inside him. He can see better like this. In the Dark. In the night. With the scent of his prey in the Force.

I am coming, Rey. I am coming.

_Kira._

You must not forget. How can he? She was made for him. As if carved from his own rib.

She is a fragile thing. Not like before when she would scream and curse and fight like a stray cat. All claws. All survival. Strong and ferocious in her beauty. The sweetest challenge for him to overcome.

Yet she would always choose Kylo. _Ben._ Again and again. That obstacle just drew Alec closer. Close enough to risk his body and soul and what was left of his heart. He has never loved. Not since his family. There are vicious feelings that he has, wanting to devour and take, to win and consume everything. And he sacrificed so much. She wanted him. He could feel it in her mouth and her body as he kissed the wretched ghost of Plagueis from her mind. How she fought for him. How she reached out and made a bond with the Force. This is love, he thinks. Maybe. You might not know it and I might not see. Kylo might take what you are and control and possess it and convince you that its him. But I know. Yes I know.

_Kira._

It is the name he has given her. The fragile gift of his sacrifice. A brittle crystal trophy.

When he brought her to Naboo, she was nothing. Skin and bones without memories. There was no spark. Except for him. He was the one that drew it out, gained her trust. Like the injured flit-wren he had nursed as a child. It depended on him. Pathetic and weak and at his mercy, its trust was earned. And so he did the same with Kira. Scraps of affection. Carefully rationed touch. She was a child, unused to anything. But if he held her hand. Brushed her cheek. Cradled her to him in the aftermath of a nightmare.

It would take time, he knew. But her trust and then her love would come. No other influence to corrupt her innocence. All would be his. And it would be earned just as with the broken bird.

Except she defied him. Ungrateful brat. Spiteful, questioning, distrustful creature. Something has changed. The power she wields that he knows best how to use, she has turned against him. The spell of the Sith has been broken. The dead Lords are full of shit, decrepit and useless. How could they not foresee this?

He does not scream into the night but the Force pulses with his fury. He can feel her close. See the trail she left through the city, weaving among the market stands and out into the forest. Dense trees made heavy with the aftermath of rain. She cannot have gotten far. For several hours there was nothing and he knows she was unconscious then. Until something changed. A primal roar. A carnal cry.

Where are you? he whispers to the nothing, into a silent void.

Where are you?

I am coming. She is close. So close. I am coming. I will find you and make you mine and you will remember my name, only mine. Your Beloved. Husband. Protector. Master.

Yes.

The rain returns but her scent grows strong. There are physical tracks left—broken twigs and crushed leaves. Even a scrap of fabric caught on a jagged branch. She runs blindly. Tired and lost. You must be cold. Let me take care of you. I won’t be mad. I won’t be anything. You won’t feel what I feel unless I allow it.

There you are.

She lies curled up at the base of a broad tree with gnarled roots that curve around her like arms. They should be his arms. It should be him. How dare she. After all he has done. He tries to keep his emotions in check but they are torn between extremes like the flesh and mask halves of his face.

He remembers her as she lied unmoving in the cracked throne room. His vision blurred by blood and blood loss, Pular’s pale emaciated form standing triumphant. Ersn emitting inhuman sounds out his crushed throat as he dragged Vadanav’s mutilated carcass behind him. And the brute writhing uselessly in a pool of his own blood. It looked as if they had lost the battle but the war was won. They had all sensed the absence of Kylo in the Force. A strange chasm like a lanced abscess through space. It was only as they emerged, it was discovered that the palace had been decimated. The crystal of the throne room had withstood the bombing. Everything else lay in smoldering ruin.

(Alec later had the crew of the offending destroyer executed. Such incompetence in the new Supreme Leader’s army could not be allowed to stand.)

“Kira.”

He kneels by her side and brushes the wet hair from her face. Removing his glove, her skin is warm and clammy. She is burning up, sick with fever. Stupid girl. What have you done? She moans something. Was it a name? Uninterpretable sounds. She is shaking. Her clothes—once worn by the late Ursa—are soaked and muddied. They cling to her body in an unintentionally appealing way.

He has no time to be distracted. He gathers her up. Her body lolls in his arms but her hands scrabble for something, like she is drowning and needs an anchor. No. She is fighting him. She is fighting.

“Kira, stop it!”

He shakes her and she goes limp. He feels a lack of tenderness inside. He feels so empty as he surveys her pathetic figure. I gave you everything, he thinks. This was all for you and you would rather kill yourself. How must I make you see? Why can’t I make you love me?

Love. It is a lie. Just like peace. Just like the Jedi. Just like everything his now dead brother said.

He contacts Ersn through the Force to let the rest know he has found her. It is a long walk back to the palace and she is sick. She might well die and she would deserve it. He could snap her neck like the flit-wren that stayed too weak to live. But what a waste. All that power. You don’t deserve it. (Neither of you did.)

He shifts her body to hang over his shoulder, makes his way to the nearest clearing, where a light transporter can set down. She continues her strange words but he is unmoved. He has found his prey and the hunt is over. She is his. She is coming home. He will have to rein her in more tightly and make her forget this so that there is only him.

He does not hold her for the short journey. He sits with his gaze straight ahead, directed above where her body lies. When they land, a medical pod is brought and droids take her to the infirmary. He goes back to his rooms. He showers and masturbates. He punches a wall when he comes. It has been too long. I am not a fucking monk. I am a man and I have waited. I am patient. What did I do wrong?

His knuckles stay bloody when he goes down to see her. Pular, Ersn and Vadanav all wait outside the infirmary doors, still rain-soaked and dirtied from the search.

“She is stable,” Pular says. “We should be—”

“What?” Alec has him by the throat, lifted several inches off the ground. “Do not say grateful.”

Pular smiles, the empty cold smile he always has that turns his pretty face ugly. “I was going to say cautious. She is sick but not tamed.” Alec drops him and Pular lands like a panther.

“Out of my way,” Alec says and his brothers move aside. It does not take the Force to see how they judge him, pity him for this weakness. Is that not love? In the way Pular always wanted him. To lie dead for six months so that Alec could escape. We lie dead for the wrong people, Alec thinks, but there is no time to analyze that thought. No sense in objectivity.

He passes through the doors and down a corridor to what is dubbed the royal bay. The largest and most hi-tech in the infirmary. Her body lies as a corpse on a white slab but there is color to her skin. Too much, he thinks. Her parted lips are chapped. Her eyes shift beneath purple veined eyelids. She is dressed in only a thin gown while above her a heat scanner tries to adjust her core temperature. It runs too hot and cold. He can see from the monitors. Rapid pulse. Blood pressure low. Fluids flow into a vein in one arm and blood comes out another. A modern filtering device that can remove infections and toxins. Could it cleanse him of this disease?

She is murmuring something. Again and again. Like a prayer. Precious chant. What does the Force have you say? Who do you think can save you? You are Kira and I made you. I will make you again. I will make you right, the way you should always have been.

Listen to me.

He can no longer hear her through their bond. He has to strain his ears, head lowered to her burbling mouth. Something ties her somewhere else. Perhaps the sickness. Whatever dream that she thinks she is in.

He listens hard. What are you saying? Say it. Speak clearly. What are you trying to tell me, my darling dumb Kira?

One word. A lonely syllable. Again and again.

“ _Ben—_ ”

Betrayal is like death, you said. Slow poison in your blood.

The knife of it slides in faster than a blaster bolt though her lips move infinitesimally. How does that work? Too fast and too slow. The droplets of moisture in the air that hover above her mouth. The fire that burns gold as his mother’s hair, hot as the flames that destroyed his home-world. All his history in an instant and this eternal end.

Finish me.

“Ben—”

Alec’s funeral hymn is cut off by his hands enclosing his murderer’s throat. It would be so simple. Yes. Shut up. Never speak again. Her neck is a column of glass that he could crush. Pale and so vulnerable. Yet you wound me mortally. You cut so deeply.

The med droids whir in distress. The monitors blare out their alarms. And all the time, her body lies unmoving except for her traitorous mouth.

“Ersn!”

His knights are duly summoned and obediently enter. Alec’s hands now rest either side of the bitch’s head. How I hate you. It must take love to feel like this. Do you remember? Do you reject me again?

“Probe her mind,” he commands and Ersn comes to stand at the head of the table, his eyes flitting to the others until Alec grabs him by the lapel. “Concentrate!”

Ersn holds his wrist in a surprisingly crushing grip while Vadanav growls close by him. _I suggest you do the same._ The words echo in his mind. Insubordination. There are traitors all around. A hand lands on his shoulder. Alec’s head snaps to the side.

“Pax, brother,” Pular says.

The Force changes inside Alec, its poison released like built-up steam. Pular is drawing it out, trying to soothe him. (He honed this skill and intensified its power during the time that he slept.) “We are all friends here.”

Alec steps back. He shakes Pular off. Ersn places his hands to Kira’s (Rey’s) temples and closes his eyes.

“Do you remember,” Pular whispers, “when you called us to the Emperor’s rooms and we tried to subdue her? What if this is more than we can handle?”

“I can handle this.”

“I do not doubt it. But the risks are great.” Pular studies him, kind eyes, so young. “Does she remember?”

“Not yet,” Alec hisses. Quiet. Just give me this. I’m not ready.

His bond with Rey is no more than a frayed thread, stretched down to its last fiber and ready to snap. He tries to cross the vast distance between them but the Force is dulled now thanks to Pular’s doing and it won’t respond to him. It falls on Ersn to reveal the secrets that she keeps. What does she see? Does she see _him_?

_A forest. A rainforest. Coruscant—_

Fuck.

_She doesn’t know its name. Just a skyline from a balcony. The warmth of a fire. She rests in a stone hut._

_She’s not alone._

Who?

_Her Beloved. She lies with him._

Could it be? Could it be—?

“ _BEN!_ ”

Rey’s head starts to shake as she screams a dead man’s name. Ersn is thrown from her mind and dislodged from his feet. He crashes into the wall of equipment behind him. But Rey won’t stop shaking. Her whole body convulses. It is as if she is possessed, reminiscent of Plagueis’ control, but this is different. More violent. Infinitely Darker.

“Ersn, can you stop this?”

The knight is struggling to his feet, aided by his lover. He wipes blood from his nose, shakes his head.

“Pular?”

“Yes.” A pale spidery hand grasps Rey’s ankle and restrains her leg. Pular’s head is tossed back, eyes close and he smiles; there is pleasure to his expression. Exultant joy in his power, in the Force that feasts on and leaks out from inside her.

“No.”

It is not Pular who speaks.

Rey’s body snaps up like a catapult; it is not a conscious or natural movement. Her eyes are open, wide and unblinking. One arm gradually rises and Pular clutches his throat. His body rises too as Rey’s arm moves higher. Her eyes turn to Alec.

“You will not hurt her anymore,” she says. Rey’s mouth forms the words but the voice—

No. Gods, no.

Nobody can move. Only eyes, frantically cast between each immobile knight and the reanimated body. That voice. That essence. A universe of winter where nothing can live.

Alec should be laughing. A joke taken too far. His worst nightmare made real.

Rey smiles, her chapped lips bloody.

“I will see you soon, brother.”

But it is Kylo who speaks.


	57. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A new update finally!! Have been working on this one for a couple of weeks. Hopefully it works and makes any kind of sense lol.

“Long is the way  
And hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Malaak wakes up aboard a ship.

His ship.

He is strapped into the copilot’s chair. There is a carafe of water by his left arm. His saber is set close by.

He grabs for the water and guzzles thirstily. When is the last time he has tasted clear liquid? Not that tepid stew Ben calls—

Malaak looks around. Out the view port the stars pass in infinite beams of white; they have entered hyperspace. And to his right sits Ben, head cast down and eyes closed. Does he sleep?

But pale hands grip the armrests. Pale perfect hands of flesh and skin. The metamorphosis; Malaak remembers as a dream. Dehydration and heat and exhaustion. He had hallucinated, passed out in the confusion. But there is no confusion now. This is real. Ben is here and he is healed.

Malaak releases the safety harness and gets to his feet. He stretches his arms, feels muscles protest and joints crack. Yet he feels better. That water was good. And a ration pack; he did not see it before. He tears the wrapping off with his teeth and swallows it down, swallows it whole.

A full stomach is as illuminating as a lifetime of study. This is wisdom, he thinks. And he sees.

Ben does not sleep. His hands flex, the pulp of his nails almost translucent as they dig into the seat padding. Malaak tilts his drooped head up and sees his sharp jaw tensed. His eyes twitch beneath smooth eyelids. Blood leaks from a nostril. What is he doing? Meditating at a time like this!

Malaak shakes him by the shoulders. Nothing. “Fool, wake up!” One hand grips Ben by the hair (thick dark hair that was not there before) and the other slaps his face. He slaps hard.

Ben’s eyes snap open. “Rey!”

“Do I look like Rey?”

Ben blinks at him, wipes a hand under his nose and studies the blood on his skin. “No,” he says. His voice is quiet, faraway as if he is not talking to Malaak. “No, she—”

“Where are we going?” Malaak demands. “Is it to Moraband?”

Ben ignores him, instead checking the navigation panel.

“Why don’t you answer me?”

A large palm slams down against the console. “Remember, Malaak!”

Malaak falls into his seat, shocked by the force of Ben’s voice and something else. Is it the Force?

“Why don’t you remember? It is Rey! We must go to her and face our brothers.”

“Where?”

“Naboo.”

“I have my orders—”

“Fuck your orders! Do you not see? It all ends and begins with her. Our brothers—”

“Do we have brothers?”

“No.” Ben looks at him with clear new eyes. A soft, warm brown. There is such sadness there and mourning and anger. “Once we did,” he says in that quiet lost voice, “but not anymore.”

* * *

Kira rests in a meadow. A blue sky hangs overhead, dotted with fluffy white clouds that drift in a gentle current. Her bare arms brush against long grass that rises on all sides. She inhales the scent of wild flowers. Sweetness and spice. There is a pleasant warmth in the docile breeze that moves about her. She is at peace. What a perfect dream. Will her monster find her here? Did Ben bring her to this place?

She sits up. She can see only the plants of the field that spill down a hill to the feet of a forest. Broad waterfalls and green mountains in the distance. The sound of birdsong. Lullaby music and yet she cannot sleep. Not like this. It is too perfect. She must know. Where is he?

“Ben?” she calls, climbing to her feet. She can see no people, no other life except the wild non-sentient kind. No other soul except she. You did not leave me, she thinks. You said you wouldn’t. You promised.

“Ben!”

A movement in the grass behind her. Kira spins. She turns and sees the figure of a woman, slightly smaller than she and exponentially more beautiful.

“Who are you?” Kira says, voice breathy and unnatural. The woman smiles. She has a porcelain face with wide eyes and full lips and long curly brown hair. A pale pink dress of finest silk hangs from her delicate frame. But there is a steel core inside her, strength that Kira can almost see. “Are you Rey?”

“Who’s Rey?” the woman says.

“Ben’s beloved.” Kira looks down at her dress, white and plain. She fingers its frayed edges. “The way he described her, I thought maybe—”

“I am not Rey. And Ben is not my beloved.”

“Then who are you?”

“I am lost the same as you.”

“I am not lost!”

“Then where are you?”

Kira looks around. Just the field and the sky. “I am waiting for someone.”

“I am waiting for someone too. Will you wait with me?”

Kira agrees. The woman offers her hand and Kira takes it. They walk through the grass down the slope of the hill to where strange animals graze.

“Do not be afraid,” the woman says. “Sit with me.”

Kira does. They sit facing each other.

“Tell me your name.”

“I am Kira,” she says. “Please tell me yours.”

“My name is Padme.”

“Pad-may?” What a beautiful name. It echoes like bells, like sacred music inside her. A song she has heard in a different age. “I am glad to meet you, Padme.”

“Is it Kira?”

“Is it what?”

“Is that your true name?”

“I know no other,” Kira says.

“You know Rey.”

“Just the name.”

“But you seek her.”

“I mean to understand her.”

“How?”

“For she haunts Ben and I cannot be her.”

“No. You cannot be.” Padme plucks at a blade of grass and hums softly. “Who we are does not die with the body for the Force makes it so. Who we are is who we are and you are you and I am me. And those we touched can remember us still. Do you see?”

“Is that a song?”

Padme laughs. “No. But this is all we have. To wait and be remembered.”

“Who do you wait for?”

“The one who killed me.”

“Who?” Kira looks around again, sure she is missing something. “Am I dead too?”

“No one is really dead.”

“But you died?”

“My heart was broken. Even now. And so I wait for the one who broke it so he may make it right.”

“Who is he?”

“My husband.” Padme lies on the ground with arms stretched wide. “My Ani.” She glances at Kira. “Do not be sad. I did not die in vain. For there was life still inside me.” Her hands move to her stomach. “Do you not feel it too?”

Kira lies down beside her and does the same. “I feel nothing.”

“There is the Force. Always the Force.”

“Do you use the Force?”

“No. It is not my gift. But my husband and my children and their children.”

“You are too young to be a grandmother.”

“And a wife and a mother and a senator. And a queen. The queen of Naboo.”

Naboo?

“Are we still on Naboo? Is it your palace on Theed? And the clothes! All my clothes—?”

“They look well on you.”

“They do not fit.” Kira runs her hands over her dress. This did not belong to a queen but the ones that do? “Nothing fits right,” she says. “This is not me.”

“Then who are you, Kira?”

“I don’t know.” She is crying. Tears track down her cheeks and along her temples like the ghosts of fingers.

“What do you know?”

“I love him,” Kira says. “Ben. And the Force. That is real. It’s in me. He told me I was strong and I could fight this, but I don’t know what I’m fighting. I think it’s me.”

“It’s just like Anakin.”

“Who?”

“It’s just like him. And he wasn’t strong enough. He did not fight it. Do not give up. Remember Rey.”

But I do not know her, Kira thinks. Only what Ben told me.

_You will not hurt her anymore._

His voice; she can hear it.

_I will see you soon—_

Who? Come back!

“Remember, Rey.”

Remember what? I don’t understand! What is happening?

_Sedate her, quickly!_

Padme?

The light is turning dark. Night is falling. A small hand grabs her own.

“He is coming. He is here for us.”

But there is only blackness all around.

* * *

Naboo is a lush planet of sea and mountains and forests. Malaak drinks in the blues and greens, terrain rich in life and strong in the Force.

How does he know that? Ben tells him. But there is an unspoken sense too. Malaak carries this gift, feels it flow from his arm to his saber, carry in his body when he fights, fill his lungs as he breathes. There is strength all around, growing stronger inside him and inside Ben too.

He does not know how Ben was healed. Ben says only that a miracle occurred, that his love is in danger and all that matters is that they help her. He is a skilled pilot, though how he learned on a dead planet with only skeleton ships to be found Malaak cannot answer. He guides them over a large city made of grand domed buildings and castles set amongst rich turquoise lakes. They circle the grandest one as alarms sound on the console.

“Incoming,” Ben says.

“They weren’t expecting you?”

“No, they definitely were.”

Ben makes evasive manoeuvres as several small fighter ships stream out in formation and converge in their direction. There are no offensive or even defensive capabilities on this small vessel. It was an abandoned transporter the Lords on Moraband requisitioned for Malaak’s mission. Lots of ships to choose from, they said, but there were no signs of the people who might have once piloted them.

A missile streaks towards them and Ben transfers the controls to Malaak. “Circle back,” he says.

“What are you doing?”

Ben holds out a hand and the missile diverts from its path, moving wide of the ship. It disappears from view as Malaak turns the ship around. Six fighters are heading towards them.

“And now?” he yells.

Ben makes a fist. Two of the fighters smash together. A third is consumed by the ensuing fireball, while the remaining three fly clear. The cockpit of one breaks apart with a click of Ben’s fingers, the pilot seat ejecting with rapid speed directly into another overhead.

“Not bad. But there’s still one left.”

“Did you forget?” Ben says and the missile he had diverted from before reappears, shooting past their ship and decimating the remaining fighter.

Malaak steers them through the burning debris and down to a courtyard Ben directs him to. They land and Ben disembarks. Malaak can hear the hum of his saber, blaster bolts being fired and banging and crunching. When he exits the ship, there is already devastation. Piles of dead soldiers and a charred black and red path through the middle, Ben’s tall dark figure striding ahead.

“Save some for me!” Malaak shouts, running to catch up with him.

They enter the castle and are met with more resistance. Ben throws men aside, pinning some to walls and the ceiling. Malaak finishes off a few stragglers, but he is superfluous to the task. Ben is frightening, he thinks. He has never seen someone so powerful.

_Remember! Why don’t you remember?_

People dressed in civilian garb run screaming past them. Ben does not touch them. Servants of the palace, he explains. Innocents. We have no quarrel with them. Still he stops one, a young man in smart white tunic and pants.

“Where is the infirmary?”

The man is too terrified to speak. Ben places a hand on his head and he goes limp. “It is not far,” Ben says as he lays his body carefully on the ground.

They use hidden doorways and passages known only to the servants, taking a twisting spiral staircase of stone down to the lowest level. More people pass them as they go, but Ben ignores them, saying only, “You do not see us.” It seems like none of them do.

The infirmary looks more like a dungeon, though the entrance is made of shiny metal and glass. It reminds Malaak of somewhere he has never been, he is sure, but something taps at the base of his skull, a niggling gnat of annoyance. He slaps the back of his head.

“What is it?” Ben says.

“Nothing.”

Ben raises a brow but says nothing else, resting his palm against the glass and causing the whole doorway to shatter.

They step through as Ben casts all the jagged fragments aside. Droids race to greet them, chirping violently, some armed. They fire darts that flash with an electrical charge. Ben marches forward, undeterred, while Malaak swats the darts away with his saber.

“Careful!” Malaak says, but nothing seems to touch Ben. He is a man on a mission, something Malaak was once too. About that, he reminds himself. It is important. You are not here to help him; but there is a more powerful sense that this is right.

“I cannot feel her,” Ben says, crushing a droid underfoot. Others implode by the flex of his fingers. “She was here. She seemed so close.”

“Where are we going?”

Ben turns and stops at the mouth of a long corridor, its walls made of glass within the stone structure and lit up from the ground. A gilded door looms at the other end, part gold and bathed in red from the emergency lights that spin as sirens sound. Space seems to change as Ben moves. One step and the walls ripple like water; the floor flows as a conveyor belt. They are surging forward as the ground is shifting underneath them, time speeding up and matter changing. Malaak grows nauseous; he feels as if he is moving in slow-motion, turning upside and inside out, but only a second has passed. They are outside the door, which is melting down. Gold drips like tears until it is no more.

“How did you do that?” Malaak gasps, but Ben has already entered the room.

All is glass and light here as well. A white slab sits in the center with columns of equipment all around, tubes and wires and ominous monitors with empty readouts. Nobody is here. No body. Ben is kneeling on the floor.

“Too late,” he is saying over and over again. He leans forward until his forehead touches tile, arms spread with palms flat. “Where are you?”

A droid wakes from hibernation, lighting up in a corner. It charges towards Ben; Malaak smashes it down, then another. But Ben is blind to it all, almost chanting now, his words a faint and rhythmic prayer.

* * *

I had forgotten, he thinks. Such beauty. The kaleidoscopic greens of the pastures. The childish burbling of the waterfalls. The delicate perfume of the wild-grass. A shaak gallops past him with a disdainful grunt. Yes, I know. I was foolish.

He looks in every direction for a sign of Kira. Rey. What should I call you now? Are you fighting? Sick? Wounded? Don’t be afraid.

He waits for her but she does not wait for him. Too late, he thinks. Too late! “WHERE ARE YOU?!”

The Force billows out like an echo. He feels the Darkness call. There is too much life; why don’t you take it? Make it quiet, so quiet that there is only her. Just a whisper; you can end this.

“I am here.”

He sees her now. Trembles at the recognition. Phantom of a thousand holovids. Hero of his mother’s stories. She was just a girl, the same as his love. The same natural effortless beauty, and with such impenetrable Light.

“Grandmother?”

Anakin always kept this wound hidden. It was only Rey who drew it out. What love could do to you. The lengths a man would go to.

“Are you waiting like me?”

She barely meets his shoulder, her arm reaching out, and he is forced to his knees.

“I need to find her,” he says.

“Who?”

“My wife, Rey.”

“The girl called Kira?”

“Have you met her?”

“Yes.” She smiles at him. A small hand cups his cheek. “What a handsome boy. I can see the confusion. It is always like this.”

“What is?”

“How you play with our hearts. I never meant to fall but I did. And I fell too hard that I lost myself. Do you see? Let her remember. Let her be her own girl.”

“I have tried.”

“But it was hard. You died, didn’t you? Had to put yourself back together.”

“Yes.” His voice breaks on the word.

“And so must she.”

“Why can’t I save her from this pain?”

“It is not yours. You are just like your grandfather. Always ready to do the worst with the very best of intentions. The Dark does not mean to be bad. And the Light is not always good. It is people that do such great and terrible things. There are choices, Ben. I wish I had choices.”

“What would you choose?”

“To have lived. To have been mother to my children. To have met my darling grandson. Ssh.” She wipes away his tears. “What is done is done.”

“He loves you still. He cannot be at peace for his sins and he suffers. He waits only for you.”

She smiles down at him. “He was always very persistent.”

“It is not too late; tell me, please. Say I can make things right, that I am not beyond hope or forgiveness—”

“Who am I to say? She will tell you this. It is time. You must be brave. And you must be willing to fail. Lay down all you are for the chance and show compassion. That is unconditional love.”

“I don’t know where she is.”

“You must got to the source of the Dark.”

“I understand,” he says. “And will I see you again?”

His grandmother—still just a girl, yet wise as an ancient goddess—leans down to place a soft kiss to his forehead. “Am I not always with you, Ben?”

* * *

Malaak yells, but his questions are useless. There is no explanation for this, only the truth that it is real. He can trust in truth, in what he sees, what he feels. There is no room for doubt in Malaak’s heart. There is faithfulness and certainty. What he sees, he believes. What he feels, he lets consume him. Always the risk of betrayal, but you can heal from that. Take this in and understand it. The Force is all there is. There are so many markings on his face and arms and torso, runes he does not know but they are a part of him. The Force glows in their lines of ink.

“This is real,” he says.

“Yes.” Ben sits up. He is facing Malaak but his eyes do not see him; he is speaking to someone else.

Malaak looks from side to side. No one is there. Can there be only what you see? But Ben’s arms lift up and form a solid circle. He is embracing something. The Force is gathering strength, growing with Light. Music sounds and he can hear a voice not of this world, a song no mortal has surely heard. Malaak slumps to the ground; he is on his knees too.

He sees a tree with thick long branches and thousands of leaves that create shade and offer shelter. A circle of children sit beneath it with a woman at their center. And the songs she sings, the stories she tells; you have heard them before. You, a mere mortal of another world.

_Mother—_

So much Light; too much. There is nothing else. They are lost, blind and drowning. Nothing to hear. They are deaf now, falling.

In the silence, there are screams.

Malaak opens his eyes. He is looking at the ceiling, splintered glass and waterlogged brick. Ben is at his side, expression hard, though his face glistens with tears.

“We must go,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

Ben drags Malaak to his feet, a strong hand gripping him by the forearm. “Just as your masters want, like your mission said: you must take me to Moraband.”


	58. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi! *runs*

“Back to thy punishment,  
False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

“Hey, Blue.”

The name is no longer apt now. She has not taken the drug for two days and already her skin has faded to wan gray and her black hair has streaks of silver scattered through. She looks old. She feels old. Too much has happened. Too close. How they made it off Formac without getting killed she does not understand. But she accepts it. She must be strong for the ones who are left, for her son—

“Where’s Mala?”

“Selena has him.” She watches Poe enter through the mirror while she pats her hair dry with a worn towel. She can remember when it was a thick rope that she would lavish with attention. But what was the point? It took only one snip to cut it off and she is the same. He still looks at her like—

“You okay?” Poe’s hands rest on her shoulders covered by a thin layer of cotton, a simple nightgown. Yet now it feels a luxury. Towels and gowns and mirrors. They cannot stay here on Kashyyyk for too long so they must make the most of it. But together again—

“Elsa.” His thumbs massage her skin, working tight muscles that have formed at the base of her neck. “What is it? Talk to me.”

You’re my best friend, she thinks. Handsome and brave. So arrogant in their first meeting. But his heart is large for the people he cares about. He has been by her side for so long. Her one constant presence besides Mala. She needs him, she knows. How he holds her up as she carries the rest of the Resistance. Balances her careful planning with whip-smart impulse when it’s needed. Removes all her hesitancy. Makes her feel strong.

“That feels so good,” she says. He works his hands from her neck down to her shoulders and she is putty beneath them. You are so good to me, she thinks.

“You earned it.”

“Hardly.”

“Why don’t you give yourself a break?”

“There’s no time for that. We need to find a new base—”

“Finn’s on it. And Maz is speaking to her contacts. Just relax now. You’ve done so much.”

She grabs a hand where it rests on her shoulder. “So have you.”

Their eyes meet in the mirror. She watches as he takes her hand and lifts it to his lips. She says nothing, only stands, lets him turn her to face him. Eye to eye, though she is the taller. Younger than him, though she feels almost ancient. He holds her by the waist as she touches his brow, brushing a loose curl away. There is salt and pepper in his hair too. We are the same, she thinks. Like this, in this world, in these roles. He pulls her closer and she lets him. Their mouths part and she feels their breaths merge together.

“I guess we both deserve a rest,” he says.

“A rest sounds good.”

It was always coming to this. The lingering looks, the loaded touches, the heat that hangs in the room when he is near, electricity tracking between them.

They kiss and she feels the current. His arms hold her tight and she sinks into them. She is his. She has wanted this, to be swept away, to taste something sweet but not bitter, to forget everything and everyone (to forget _him_ ).

Poe guides her to the large Wookiee bed lined with furs and they sink down together, both exploring. She helps him off with his shirt. He slips the gown from her shoulders, mouths her breasts as she traces the muscles than tense and flex in his back.

“I’ve wanted this from the first moment I saw you,” he says.

I did not, she thinks, but that does not matter to me. I want this now. “No more talking.” Only kissing and caressing and making the other feel good. Only good feeling. Only this moment. “Poe—”

There is a loud, urgent knock at the door. “Commander?”

Poe sits up, smiling down at her. “It was nice while it lasted,” he says, his thumb running along her lower lip. She bites at it, and he laughs.

They dress together. He is ready before her, and she does not hide from him as she tosses the nightgown off.  
  
“So fucking beautiful,” he mutters while she puts her uniform on.

They follow Kaydel along the strutted walkway that curves around and stretches between the impossibly tall trees. Elsa feels Poe’s hand at the small of her back; she does not shake it away.

“The General,” Kaydel is saying. “She keeps talking about Kylo Ren again.”

“Ben,” Elsa corrects.

Poe’s fingers press harder. “It’s not a new thing. Why disturb the commander?”

“Something’s different. No one can calm her. She’s been screaming for—”

They hear it then, echoing through the forest, punctuated by the sad growls of Chewie and his wife Mallatobuck murmuring Shyriiwook comforts. The native sounds of the planet and a mourning mother louder than them all.

The two Wookiees emerge from the hut as their party arrives. Elsa takes Chewie’s hands. “How is she?”

He shakes his head while Mallatock holds onto his arm.

“I’ll do what I can,” Elsa promises and opens the door with Poe close behind.

The single chamber is a wonky circle that houses a lone bed. The General paces across its center, her gray hair twisted into a tight bun and frame shrouded in a blanket woven by Chewie’s son.

“I need to go to him,” the General says. She does not stop or deem to acknowledge them even as she says again, “I need to—

“Leia.” Poe wraps an arm around her shoulders and tries to guide her to the bed.

“I need to go!”

He stumbles back as if pushed by invisible hands. Elsa approaches carefully. “We can go,” she says. “Just tell us where.”

“He needs me; my baby needs me.”

“Of course.” Elsa kneels down at Leia’s feet. “You’re his mother.”

“Yes. He called for me—”

“Ben is dead.”

“Poe!” She glares at her best friend and almost lover as he comes to stand beside her.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he says, casting sad eyes over Leia. “It’s making her ill. She’s getting worse.”

“Don’t make me demote you again,” the General interjects and her voice sounds stronger and clearer than it has done in a year. “My son is not dead. You think I wouldn’t know?”

“Leia, I…” Poe joins Elsa on the floor. He sinks down slowly, blinking at the General as if her visage can’t be real. “How do you know?”

“Because he called for me. He’s not done that since he was ten years old. Not since I let him go.”

Elsa takes hold of Poe’s hand with both her own. “I believe her. We have to do this.”

“But what if she’s wrong?”

“The Force is bigger than us. Who are we to think we know better? Please, if you’d just trust me then—”

He looks down at their joined hands and squeezes tightly. “Of course I’ll go.”

“You are like son and daughter to me,” Leia says, drawing their faces towards her as she caresses their cheeks. “But Ben is my blood. I can’t let him down. Not again.”

Elsa closes her eyes and thinks of her child. “I promise you Leia, we will bring your boy home.”

* * *

“It’s a terrible idea.”

Elsa surveys the fire-lit faces around her. It is Finn who has spoken, speaks for most who are there when he questions the wisdom of her plan. On paper, by logic, it is truly terrible; for their leader to abandon them when their position is so insecure. For their second in command to go too. But something outside of her, inside of her, the beat in her heart, a weight in her gut, says that she must do this. She has made a vow.

She looks to Poe, who sits on a tree trunk bench cradling the sleeping Mala. He is quiet, his eyes upon the child he holds. Another time and he would have spoken out, stood and shouted loudly, been the voice of opposition instead of silent in a show of support.

“I’m not asking for permission,” Elsa says.

“But what about Mala?”

“What about him?”

“How can you leave him? What if—?”

“I am doing this for my son.”

There is the rustle of leaves, a thick blanket overhead dislodged by a sudden breeze, yet it seems to Elsa she has commanded it. Finn sits back down and Rose rises from beside him.

“What if Ben Solo isn’t dead? If we can find him and bring him back, I don’t know… I just have this feeling. It’s too important. I keep thinking it’s what Rey would’ve done.”

“I agree with the small one,” Maz says, standing on a log beside Chewbacca. Seated, the Wookiee still towers over her. His huge hands slam against his knees as he speaks in his own tongue, and Maz claps. “Absolutely! We owe it to Han. And to Luke and to Leia. This is for the legacy of them and the sake of the Force and the fate of the galaxy. That boy and his girl hold it all in their hands and we must help them.”

“What about Rey?” Finn says. “You all care about someone who’s likely dead but she’s still somewhere out there. It’s happened twice now; Poe and I both felt it. They’re using her, Hux and whoever else. We can’t give up on her.”

“I agree with him too,” Maz says.

“I have not given up on our friend. But there is nothing I can do—” Elsa raises a hand before Finn can interrupt her. “It is beyond my power but not beyond the power of Ben Solo. If we want to save the Empress, it will require the Emperor. I am willing to risk my life to achieve that. I won’t ask the same of the rest of you; you are the last of the Resistance and you must keep the fire alive. For those who are lost and those who are still to come. That is why I am doing this for my son.”

She walks around the fire and comes to a stop before Finn. “Will you be the commander while I am gone?”

Finn stands and salutes, but Elsa embraces him. “Protect my son,” she says.

“You have my word.”

“Protect them all. Find a new base and we will meet you there when we have the Emperor.”

The plan is agreed. Elsa and Poe make quick goodbyes around the campfire then return Mala to his treehouse bed. Selena is waiting for them.

“I will treat him like my own,” she says. “But you’ll come back, won’t you, my Lady?”

Elsa holds her baby close. She breathes in his hair, soft and warm and scented by the forest and his own sweet infant smell. I will come back, she thinks, if I can, if I am meant to. Just like your father said. I will love you, I’ll always love you. She kisses the crown of his head and sees the image of a temple, large and imposing, cast in red by a violent sand storm. Elsa gasps.

“What is it?” Poe says.

“We have to go.”

She lays Mala down. There is no time to stop and offer comfort to the gently sobbing Selena. Only the mission, a dreamlike vision she knows is real and the hope of everyone else she holds inside; there is only the time that they have left.

She straps in beside Poe as he starts up their dilapidated transporter.

“You’re not going to try and talk me out of this?” she says.

“That speech really got to me.” He pulls on the controls, and they start to take off. “And truth be told, I’ve learned not to question my superiors. It was Holdo who taught me.”

Elsa studies his strong profile but his gaze is fixed ahead. They have never talked about Amilyn. Elsa has only heard stories; she never liked what was said.

“I know she was your stepmother,” Poe continues, “but she was just like you. I should’ve—”

“Don’t talk about it now.” I don’t want to hear it again. “That’s an order,” she says.

The ship breaks through the atmosphere, and Poe raises his hand, reaching for the switch to enter lightspeed, his eyes fully on her (full of regrets, she thinks).

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Do you remember the first time I came here? Alec thinks. It was all for you. The planet seemed more forbidding back then, harsh winds spinning sand grains like shards of glass. The sky was heavy; a storm had followed him in. Yet he was happy then. Excited. Filled by love.

Is that what this is?

Rey lies unresponsive in a medical pod. She has been sedated. The fever has not broken. Her body is pale and weak. Damp yet warm to the touch. You were worth it then. I do not regret it. I do not regret this.

He leads his fellow knights through the ancient valley. They were still licking their wounds on the last visit, sore from an almost defeat. Yet the Darkness had rejuvenated them, raised their spirits to a giddy high like a powerful drug. All their boyhood dreams realized. Everything Kylo said was true. But he was not here. Gone. No more. Alec liked to think the betrayal of his ideals had disintegrated him, an acid that dissolved the spirit such was the depth of his denial. _If you love her, help me._ Ha! Where is your love? Where are you now?

Except somehow his brother lives.

There is no excitement this day. The Darkness soothes but it does not heal. It feeds on the pain but can give no relief. There is only one hope left. Take the vessel, powerful child of Light, and make it something else. Everyone can change. Alec knows this, better than anyone. We all must change. We all must change and grow and become more powerful. Kill the ones who harm us. Seek revenge. Make the galaxy anew.

Child of Light. Rey now Kira. You are our hope. You are our tool. You are my love and I will make you so, mold you in the way you were meant to be.

The faceless statues look down blindly upon them. There is no judgment here. This is a place of worship, sacred, desolate and cold. I love it here, Alec thinks. It feels like home (and there has been no home since an act of fire; of course he loves the cold for it does not burn, it only numbs and he can be, he can see so clearly, yes.)

_Welcome back._

He hears the voices now, every part of him attuned. You are our child, the Sith Lords whisper. Wayward son, why did you not return to us much sooner?

They enter the temple and pass by the statues of the most holy Sith Lords. It is not much further. He lifts Rey from the medical pod. I will take you myself for you are my offering. They reach the final room with its glorious obsidian tomb. Here he welcomes us. He waits. Black carved sarcophagus. Alec walks to the center. He lays Rey upon the altar, just like before. He steps back and he kneels, just like before. His brothers all kneel behind him.

“Forgive me, my Lord.”

The room is silent. The silence is thick as smoke; it holds them still like bands about their hearts, chains that hug their lungs. Alec feels a cool breeze beside him.

_Is this how you honor me?_

“It was my arrogance, a childish fear. I coveted and refused to see. She is not mine.”

_Whose is she?_

“Yours, my Lord. She has always been.”

Lightning strikes right beside him. Alec is thrown and lands at the feet of his brothers. No one moves to help him. He struggles back onto his knees.

“If you were brave you would have killed each other.”

The voice is low and barely audible but a pain lances through each of them. Alec can hear Vadanav groan, see Pular bite his lip hard enough that blood trickles down. Red-stained tears pour from Ersn. Alec retches up liquid crimson.

“Kill each other,” the voice says. “There is no loyalty. You have formed bonds and they have weakened you; they will be your undoing.”

“Show us then,” Alec says in harsh, strained speech. “Make us strong so we may see.”

The room lights up with orange flame. Laughter echoes and cracks the ground. All the knights kneel; they still look down.

“You see nothing. You are deaf and dumb. You walked away from the one who made you. Such Darkness. The beauty of it. To breathe death. To consume life. All that power and it was not enough simply to exist in its presence. Ungrateful children. Why did he let you live?”

Alec’s hands form fists; he wants to smash them against the stone ground. “He is not Dark like you think. He is sick with compassion. He consorts with the Light. He let it dominate him.”

“You mean the girl?”

At this he looks up. He can see the immense fiery figure of Bane. It floats behind the sarcophagus, black robed and helmeted, with smoke in the place of limbs and fire for eyes and a mouth. The smoke brushes over Rey’s body.

“Such a gift. You did not share her.”

“It was my mistake. My covetous ways. But passion sways me to do this.” Alec tries to stand as he makes his plea. “Free us of these bonds, my Lord, and show us the only way.”

“SILENCE!”

Everything is cast in a searing whiteness. Alec’s mouth falls open in a scream but no sound emerges. This silence smothers all it hears. It crushes down to bone.

He is aware of one thing. The smoke gathers Rey towards it, embracing arms that cradle her like a child to its mother. Flames trickle down like tears. Darth Bane is pleased; he seems victorious. Soon I will have you, Alec hears. _Soon…_

The white recedes. All four knights are reduced to their hands and knees; they are breathing hard.

“I will let you watch,” Bane says as he places Rey back down. “Learn your lesson and count your blessings: two. Only two.”

He means to kill us, Ersn speaks inside their heads.

If he does then we deserve it, Alec responds and he knows the rest can hear him. Listen. Accept the lesson. It is what I did the first time I came here.

And it almost killed you, Pular says.

Are you afraid of death?

Bane seems unaware of or, more likely, unconcerned by their conversation. “You brought guests.”

Alec sits up. “What do you mean?”

“Another presence is here. Do you not feel it? You dare lie to me?”

“There is only the four of us and the girl.”

“She is not alone.”

Alec struggles to standing once more. The rest of the knights follow suit. He reaches out with the Force and is met by a choir of laughing. Cacophonous, cruel voices, sweet and sadistic; they echo throughout the vast room.

_This is too good._

_Unholy blessing._

_Count! One, two! One, two!_

“I don’t understand,” Alec says.

Smoke drifts back down over Rey, meandering to coil like a snake above her stomach. “She is with child.”

“No!”

Alec covers his ears but the laughter won’t stop. He pulls at his hair. It cannot be so; it is not possible—

“Did you think it could be yours? That she would ripen for you?” The smoke engulfs Rey’s slight body as Bane continues to taunt. “Arrogant boy! You did not take while you could. You were not man enough to claim her, all for your childish notions of love. It is not yours, it could never be—“

“I WILL KILL YOU!”

Lightsaber drawn, Alec charges at the altar. His rage flows as ice in his blood. The Force feels pure with his hatred. Kill them all! Why did you let them live?

“Good.”

Alec is frozen where he stands. The smoke is gone from around Rey and only soft embers glow from the eyes and mouth of Bane’s helmet.

“The poison has not left you. It has matured with age.” Bane tosses Alec back, and he lands in a heap amongst his brothers. “You may have your uses yet.”

“My Lord?”

“You are late.”

Alec shakes off the aid of Pular as he looks behind him. Someone else has entered the tomb.

“I have what you asked for,” the new voice says.

The day is wrong. The night holds the sun. Ersn splutters in his broken voice, while Vadanav somehow grows more pale. Even Pular cannot muster an ironic smile. (Another time and Alec would have found the image funny.)

All watch as the brother they left for dead steps out of the shadows. A tall black-clad figure lies slumped across his broad back.

“Place him here,” Bane says.

Malaak passes them by with barely a cursory glance and dumps his load next to Rey.

“Is that…?” But Alec cannot finish the thought. It is drowned out by the sound of laughter again. Except this time the laughter is his.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Free To Fall (Playlist)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090673) by [NatiaRebmik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatiaRebmik/pseuds/NatiaRebmik)




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